I, Castiel
by daymarket
Summary: Dean takes his first steps into the 22nd century with his very own P.A.L., the most sophisticated robot on the market. One programming muddle later, he finds himself trying to teach a stiff, contrary robot how to act human. Incomplete sequel, Firsts, may be found on LJ.
1. Chapter 1

This was all Sam's fault.

Dean cursed as he ripped open the shrink-wrapped manual, thumbing it open. The instruction manual for _P.A.L.! __**P**__rogrammable __**A**__rtificial __**L**__ife _was at least a hundred pages thick and looked complicated enough to launch a space shuttle. Great. A hundred pages of _all the fun things you can do with your P.A.L.!_and they didn't even tell you how to turn the fucking thing on.

He glanced up at the metal box, where his _P.A.L.!_stood impassively. Robots were all the rage these days—original conceived as household objects, people now clamored for robots that could, well, be people. They weren't _actual_ people, of course, but the artificial intelligence was sufficient enough to mimic humanity. The idea was vehemently rejected by just about every church around the world (and several governments), but the things were flying off the shelves. Robots creeped the shit out of Dean, though—how could a hunk of plastiskin and metal pass for an actual person, anyway? Even if they _were_ individually customized, it was still weird as hell.

"Fuck you, Sam," he growled. Sam and his gadgets. Sam had already bought his own _P.A.L.!_as he was a massive girl and needed someone to trade hair tips with. Two, actually, though not at the same time: they were both named Ruby and apparently had the same memory chip, but radically different looks. Sam had redesigned his bot somewhere along the road.

_It's not the end of the world_, Sam had said when Dean learned of the purchase. Sam was making Bitchface #5, or, "My Brother is Stuck in the 21st Century and Won't Grow Up, Oh, What's a Sasquatch to Do." _This is their latest model, and it's about time you caught up to the real world, anyway._

"Well, up yours, Sammy," Dean muttered.

Still, Sammy had picked well. The features of every _P.A.L.!_ was unique. That was one of their major selling points, the idea of being able to create your own perfect companion that was yours alone. This particular model was a male and had mussy black hair and some of the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. He was dressed in a standard tee and jeans, but Dean knew from Sam's enthusiastic descriptions that the figure underneath was perfectly proportioned, had flawless skin, etc. People didn't pay big bucks for love handles, after all.

"Okay, you," Dean muttered. He glanced down at the manual. "Let's see. Ahem." He cleared his throat. "Registration number: 52342123. Key: A4624. Owner's name: Dean Winchester. And…activate."

He was expecting it, sort of, but he couldn't help but jump away when the _P.A.L.!_blinked. Once. Twice. Dean found himself holding his breath as the robot went through a series of quick diagnostics, the metal bracelet around his wrist flashing through a series of colors. Finally, he looked around the room and focused on Dean.

"Hi," Dean said stupidly, waving a hand.

"Hello, Dean!" the robot said in a cheery, chipper voice. "As a friendly robot who's intelligent and eager, I'm looking forward to being your _P.A.L.!_"

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Is there something wrong, Dean?" the robot asked, beaming. "I'm so happy to be here today. Would you care to name me?"

"Uh, I don't know," Dean said. "You mean, like Bob or Joe or something?"

"Certainly, if that's what you wish! Remember, I'm your _P.A.L.!_, a friendly robot who's intelligent and—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Dean said. "God, I don't know. John? Chuck?"

"Whatever you like, Dean!" the robot said happily. Dean grimaced. "That's okay, you can take as long as you need! Remember, as your _P.A.L.!_, I'm a friendly—"

"Okay, that is _it_. Shut up," Dean said as he flipped through the manual, looking for something along the lines of "turn off" or "stop sounding like you're a walking advertisement." He didn't find it.

"Or maybe you'd like to play a game?"

"No! No games!"

The robot tilted his head and gave another wide, cheery smile. Presumably, it was meant to be heartwarming. "Okay!" he said. "Remember, I'm your—"

"Right, right…SHUT UP!" Dean said. "You…stay here, okay? I need to…I need to ask someone something. Actually, I need to strangle Sam, but I can't do that over the phone."

"Take as long as you want, Dean!" the robot declared. "I'll be here waiting for you!"

"Uh," Dean said as he backed out of the room and closed the door on the dazzling smile. Obviously, these robots were meant to serve people as personal companions, but that was taking it way too far in Dean's humble opinion. No normal mouth was meant to smile like that, he was sure.

Dean scowled as he picked up the phone to call Sam. Okay, the plan: he was going to rant at Sam until he felt better, then he was going to return the robot back to the shop. The thing was freaking him out, big-time.

"Hello?"

Dean gave an inward sigh. Ruby. "Hi, Ruby," he said, trying not to grit his teeth. "Listen, is Sam there?"

"He's just about to head out," Ruby said. "What's up, Dean?"

"Just give him the phone."

"Gee, aren't you a ray of sunshine. Sam!" There was a click.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said. "Look, not that I don't appreciate you calling, but I've got a case in court today—"

"The robot came today," Dean interrupted.

"Oooh!" Sam said, instantly eager. "And how was it? It was amazing, right? I mean, these models are top of the line and…you're not saying anything. It wasn't amazing, huh?"

"…not really. No. Sam, I swear, that thing is smiling so hard it's going to pick up a butcher knife and come after me in my sleep. And I know that doesn't make sense, but hell, these robots—they're creepy, man!"

"Did you program it?"

"Program?" Dean demanded.

"Yeah, Dean, that's what the manual is for," Sam said. "The default personality is kind of weird, I'll admit, but that's why you have to program it for the personality you want."

"What the—why the hell is that?"

Sam gave a great gusty sigh that echoed through the phone. "Look, Dean, I'm going to be late. It's all in the manual, okay?"

"Bitch," Dean muttered. "Fine. Go to court. I'll figure this out by myself."

"Jerk," Sam returned. There was a brief hesitation, and then he gave another one of those huge, martyred sighs. "Look, call me if there's any major problems, okay? These models are Three Laws safe, but you're supposed to enjoy this, Dean. If you really don't want the bot, I'll return it."

Damn Sammy and the way he could make Dean feel guilty just by a few sentences. "Fine," Dean muttered ungraciously. He paused, made a face at the wall, then said, "Thanks, Sam. I mean—even if I, uh, I—"

"Got it," Sam said dryly. "I'll see you around."

"Yep," Dean said, and then he was listening to a dial tone.

Okay. Fine. They wanted him to read the manual; he'd read the damn manual. Dean turned to the front page and scanned the table of contents. Programming…ah. Page 31: How to Program Your _P.A.L.!_

Dean was getting really, really sick of that word.

X

Twenty minutes later, Dean had gotten absolutely nowhere.

The manual touted a "user-friendly interface!", but as far as Dean could tell, it consisted of the bot spouting useless information at random intervals. The robot's control center was the metal bracelet fixed to its wrist, but the tiny glowing buttons provided no information whatsoever.

"I feel like my mood is better than ever!" the robot announced as Dean jabbed a blue button. "This is lots of fun, Dean!"

Dean groaned as he mashed the red button underneath it and pulled the green slider all the way to the right. According to the manual, this was a series of steps that would bring up the robot's patience monitor, but he was probably two or three steps behind, or even going in the wrong direction entirely. Dean looked hopefully up at the robot, who beamed back him idiotically. "Thanks for choosing me as your _P.A.L.!_, Dean!" it said cheerily. "Remember, I'm—"

Dean cursed, tossed the manual aside, and started pushing things at random. He'd do anything to get that smug grin off, really. "SHUT. UP. Okay," he said. "Let's do this the hard way then. Programming by random chance. Worst comes to worst, I'll send you back to the factory for a reset."

The robot remained silent. Dean continued to press buttons for a few minutes more until he finally settled back on his haunches and pressed the big red button. "Do you wish to confirm these settings?" the robot chirped. "Please note that these changes cannot be made without a factory reset!"

Dean paused. "Sure, why not." He pressed the button again.

"Settings confirmed. Reconfiguring…"

There was a whir and a click. Then, in a much deeper voice, the robot said, "Configuration complete."

Dean jumped a little at the sound. The voice was rougher, more gravelly than the annoying tenor chirp—it would've gone straight to Dean's groin, if it weren't for the fact that he really wasn't into having sex with a _bot_, for god's sake. He preferred his conquests to be real and living. Still, there was a certain appeal to it.

"So, hey," Dean said, and waited for a response. If he heard another "Thanks for choosing me as your _P.A.L.!_", he was going to take a sledgehammer to the thing.

Instead, the robot tilted his head and regarded him with a steady blue gaze. "I have not been named yet," he said in that same low voice. "A name is required before we continue."

Dean blinked. In between "programming," he hadn't really thought about it. "I don't know," he said blankly. "Isn't there a default list or something?"

"There is a default name available," the bot said.

"Well, go for it," Dean said, gesturing. "It'll be better than anything I come with."

"The default name is Castiel. Is that acceptable?"

Dean mulled the name over for a moment. Castiel. The guys who configured the bots at the factory evidently had no lack of imagination, because what the hell kind of name was Castiel? But hey, it was better than Joe, which was his other idea. "Okay, then, buddy. You're Castiel," he decided. "There. That wasn't too hard, was it?" he added, slapping Castiel across the back.

"We could have encountered many more difficulties, yes," Castiel said carefully.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What mode did I set you on? You don't have to chew every word before it comes out, dude."

"I will refrain from doing so in the future. Now tell me about yourself, Dean Winchester."

Dean laughed a little at the imperious tone in the robot—no, _Castiel's_ voice. "Aren't robots supposed to serve? What's with the bossy tone?"

"I cannot fulfill my purpose if I do not understand my subject. Now—describe yourself," Castiel said, and yeah, there was definitely a pissy note in his voice.

"Hey, take it easy," Dean said, raising his hands in surrender. "Where do you want me to begin?"

"With wherever you feel is appropriate," Castiel said, continuing to stare. It was a little disconcerting, really: didn't he need to blink? Robots were supposed to be as realistic as possible, right?

Apparently not.

"Okay, first thing about me," Dean said finally. "Personal space. I need it. I need it like air, really. That means you can't sit within three inches of me and breathe into my face, okay?"

Castiel seemed to ponder this for a moment before drawing a few inches back. "My apologies," he said gravely. "I will remember that you humans require space next time."

_You humans. _Interesting. Obviously, robots weren't humans and they knew it, but it felt a bit strange to have the thought voiced so baldly out loud. "Okay, that's enough of the getting-to-know-you bit for now," Dean announced.

"Very well," Castiel said, though he sounded rather disapproving. "I would like to know what my duties are, then. I prefer to have a purpose."

"Duties?" Dean drew a blank for a moment. "Christ, I don't know. I guess you could do my laundry or something. Buying you was Sam's idea, not mine. Or, hey—can you cook?"

"I have within my database over a million recipes," Castiel said, sounding distinctly lofty.

Dean felt his lips quirk up despite himself. "That doesn't mean you can _cook_," he pointed out. "I may be a grumpy bachelor, but I can scramble eggs like nobody's business."

"I believe I can easily outscramble you," Castiel said, and Dean had to laugh at that. "With my eyes closed," he added, still perfectly serious.

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be," Dean said with a grin. "_Mano a mano._ Fine, I'll let you prove it tonight. Whip up something for dinner and I'll be the judge."

"Dinner," Castiel said, as if tasting the word delicately. "Noun, the main meal of a day, often eaten in the evening." He paused. "It is not dinnertime yet, at least not how it is conventionally defined."

"Well, no," Dean admitted, looking at the clock: 12:05. "This is more lunchtime, really, but I don't eat lunch."

"Do you have a career?" Castiel inquired. "Humans should have careers so they may contribute to society."

"_Should_? That's awfully high-handed. I mean, I agree, but—wow. Can robots say that?" Dean said.

Castiel looked back at him severely. "You programmed me for freedom of speech. If you want to reset it, you'll have to send me back to the factory."

"Oh. Right." Dean rubbed the back of his neck ruefully. "That's what I get for not reading that brick of a manual. To answer your question, yeah, I have a job. I work construction. Not exactly the glitz of a law firm, but I get by."

"Self-deprecation is often used to hide shame," Castiel observed.

Dean gave him a dirty look. "Did I hit the 'tactless' button while I was at it? Look, I'm not ashamed. It's a job, I do it well, and well, I never was cut out for school anyway."

"You did not go to college?"

"Nope," Dean said. "That's Sam department," he added, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "Sam's working in some law firm now; he passed the bar exam two or three years ago."

"Sam is your…brother?"

"Yep. He's the one who bought you, actually, remind me to get him back for that some day."

"I'll make a note of it in your calendar," Castiel said.

Dean snorted. "Cute. Look, I'll be straight with you, okay? I'm, uh…getting a robot wasn't my idea. And I don't know shit about how you guys work or if you need your oil changed or whatever. But basically, I'm a pretty low-key guy and I'm, uh, not really sure what to do."

"Neither am I," Castiel said calmly. "It's a learning curve for me as well."

"Right. Well, uh, I have to go to work. I've got the evening shift today, so I'm not going to be back till, I don't know, eight." Dean stood up and stretched a few kinds out of his spine before looking curiously at Castiel. "Do you…hell, I don't know. Do you get bored? Do you want a book or something?"

Castiel looked thoughtful for a moment, and Dean gave a small groan at his own stupidity. Of all the dumb questions to ask…robots didn't get bored. They were supposed to serve you, not the other way around.

"I would appreciate it," Castiel said finally. Dean glanced at him quickly, and he continued, "I would like to learn more about your taste in literature in the process."

Well. Dean gave a small shrug at that line of reasoning. He picked out _Slaughterhouse Five _and handed it to Castiel before he left, wondering vaguely just how long it would take a robot to finish it. If they were working at full capacity—roughly two nanoseconds. For a robot designed to be a human's companion? Who knew?

X

He came home to pie.

"Dude!" Dean cried as the scent of apple pie wafted over to tease his nose. "Fresh out of the oven, too," he observed as he tried to pick up a piece and burned his fingers. He looked up to see Castiel, who was standing stiffly in the kitchen and managed to give the impression of an impassive statue, albeit one that was holding a spatula. "How'd you know I liked pie?"

"Your brother told me," Castiel said.

"Sam? Sam called?"

"Yes," Castiel said. He laid down the spatula carefully and crossed his arms. "I do believe I have out-cooked you."

"Wait, you don't win that fast. I have to taste the thing first. But before that, I'm going to call Sam. Wait a sec." Dean pulled out his smartphone, turned it on and saw that Sam had called him twice—no doubt asking whether or not he'd destroyed Castiel yet. Dean rolled his eyes as he hit the dial button. "Sam?" he said when Sam picked up.

"Dean!" Sam said. The background was filled with the sound of raucous cheers and the clinking of glasses: a bar of some sort. Dean raised an eyebrow. "How's Castiel treating you?"

"Fine. What're you celebrating?"

"We wrapped up a case today, so me and the guys are going to get dead drunk. You want to tag along? Ruby's with me; you can bring Castiel and give him a test run."

Dean shuddered. "Ugh, I did not need that visual, Sammy," he said. "You picked a pretty face, yeah, but I'm not sure I really want to do it with a robot."

"You're such a prude," Sam remarked. "I meant socially. Socially! He sounded really awkward when I called him; I never knew you were into the geeky shy type."

"I'm not," Dean said. "I couldn't figure how to work it, so I just programmed it randomly."

Sam's laughter echoed over the phone. "Seriously? That kind of defeats the point of having a robot in the first place. You're supposed to pick and choose, otherwise it's like talking to a human."

"Well, you know me, I love surprises," Dean said dryly. "Besides, what's wrong with good old _homo sapiens_? Me and Cas, we work fine. He made pie, by the way."

"Cas? I thought it was Castiel."

"_Cas_ is less of a mouthful. And before you ask, it was the default name and I had no idea what else to call it. I was going to name it _Sam_, but then I figured that there's already too much of Sam in this world and we don't need another one."

"Hey, you know you'd miss me if I was gone," Sam said. There was a yell from the background, and Sam's voice was muffled for a few minute before he came back. "Hey Dean, I gotta go. Take care, okay?"

"Yep," Dean said. "See you, Sammy." He hung up and shook his head for a moment before heading back to the kitchen, where Castiel was meticulously setting the dining room table. Only one place, Dean noticed. "You guys don't eat?" Dean asked.

"Nominally, yes. But I felt it would be inappropriate." Castiel did not look up as he spoke.

"Really? None of the bots at the construction site eat actual food. My boss bitches constantly about the oil expenditure, though."

"I am not a construction robot," Castiel said.

There was a distinct note of—pride?—in his voice. Or not pride, exactly, more like…_righteousness_. Which was weird to hear in any context, but especially out of place for a bot. "Okay," Dean said slowly. "So you're a personalized companion bot." He paused. "You do know that half of them—hell, make that the vast majority—of personal bots are used for sex, right? I wouldn't say that's better than digging holes, but it's the way of the world."

"We may have sexual contact anytime you desire," Castiel said calmly. "One, however, does not have sex with bulldozers."

"And that makes it infinitely better, huh?" Dean said, grinning despite himself.

Castiel looked up from the table and gave Dean a cool gaze that paradoxically sent a rush of heat down Dean's spine. "No," Castiel said in a tone of calm finality. "Just different."

Dean scrubbed his face with his palm. "Well," he said after a moment, "you're supposed to be a PAL!, right, capital letters and all? It'd be a shame to make you eat in the corner. I mean, not that you should be eating in corners anyway, but you know what I mean. Go on, set another place."

It took a few more minutes, but at the end of it all, Dean's crappy dining room table was almost collapsing from the weight of all the dishes on it. Castiel had taken the dare seriously (did he know how _not_ to take things seriously?), evidently, and some of the stuff looked like it belonged in a restaurant, not here in Dean's lousy aparent.

Dean swallowed a bite of tender steak and looked up to see that Castiel was examining a chunk of carrot like it was the most fascinating thing in the universe. Dean waited, but Castiel didn't any move to actually put it in his mouth and, well, eat it. "Go on," Dean said, gesturing. "It's not going to kill you."

"I am not worried about death by carrot," Castiel said primly, but he didn't move. "I am perfectly capable of functioning on solar energy alone."

"Solar energy's for wimps," Dean said, biting into his own carrots. They were good—better than good, actually, since Cas had managed to use some sauce or whatever to spice them up. "Maybe we should've started you out on baby formula or something," he said after a moment. "Or toast. Bland toast."

Castiel looked at him, evidently piqued by this comment if the smoldering in his eyes was anything to go by. "I do not require infant mush," he said, and popped the carrot into his mouth. "I—" he broke off, looking a little flustered.

"Yeah, beats the taste of solar batteries and machine oil, doesn't it," Dean said as Castiel swallowed. "Here, now try the steak," he added, cutting a piece of steak and holding the laden fork out for Castiel to sample. "I'll even admit that it's better than my home cooking, if you do the same thing tomorrow."

"Steak?" Castiel said confusedly. "There isn't any more beef in the refrigerator."

"Well, steak for breakfast's a bit rich for my taste, but we can head out tomorrow to the grocery before my shift starts if you want." Dean watched with satisfaction as Castiel delicately nibbled at the bite of steak. "If you're going to be cooking full-time, I guess you should pick out the groceries."

"But I don't know enough about your food preferences," Castiel said. "Other than pie. And steak. And carrot?"

"Not so much with the carrots. Or anything green. But keep this up, and I'm sure I can manage to keep down anything you make," Dean said. "Now finish your steak. I want to tackle that pie next."

X


	2. Chapter 2

If Dean had programmed Castiel the conventional way, he would already know everything that was worth knowing. As it was, Dean had to do it the hard way; a.k.a. actually talking and interacting. To quote Sam, it completely undermined the _point_ of a robotic companion in the first place, but hey: at least it wasn't boring.

So: Five Things Dean Learned About Castiel.

1. Castiel had no tact whatsoever.

"So, I'm guessing you don't need to sleep," Dean said as he pulled back at the rumpled blankets of his bed. Castiel had trailed him to the door of the bedroom and stood watching him stiffly. "Do you guys shut down for the night, to save power?"

"Will we be having sexual relations?" Castiel asked. Dean froze mid-pull and tried to ignore the churning in his stomach that the sentence produced. "I have an extensive range of sexual positions and can perform anal, oral—"

"No!" Dean sputtered, cutting off the horrifying list. "No sex! Just sleep!"

"Very well, then," Castiel said, and Dean swore that there was a definite note of disapproval in his voice. "I'll be outside if you change your mind."

He closed the door behind him as he left. Dean leaned against the bedpost and breathed deeply for a few minutes, trying to erase the (to be honest, not _entirely_ unappealing) images in his brain. As he slid under the blankets, he was determined not to think about anal sex, oral sex, Castiel giving any kind of sex, or in fact, sex ever again.

2. Two words not in Castiel's dictionary: personal space.

His alarm rang around nine in the morning. Dean grunted and flapped an arm around his bedstand, but it shut off before he got there. Dean opened his eyes in confusion to see Castiel's face right in front of him. He yelped and jumped back. "Jesus, Cas!"

"Good morning," Castiel said, apparently oblivious.

Dean stared at the bot: Castiel was sitting in a chair next to the bed, his hands folded neatly in his lap and his head tilted to one side. "What the hell? Were you there all night?"

Castiel shook his head. "Only after your sleeping patterns stabilized," he said finally. "When I determined that you were asleep, I decided it would be appropriate to enter."

"Okay, ground rules: until I wake up, stay out of my room, okay? My room, my personal space. Your room, your…you don't have a room. Right."

"I am meant to be your personal companion," Castiel said severely.

"Not while you're in my face," Dean said illogically. Castiel looked more disapproving than ever, but he did back off.

"I'll go prepare breakfast," Castiel announced, leaving the room with a definite huff in his step.

3. Awkwardly enough, Castiel tended to take things just a _tiny_ bit too literally.

Dean was in the other room when he heard the phone ring, and Castiel was the one who picked it up. "Hello, Dean Winchester's house," he said, which made Dean wince all by itself.

There was a muffled sound from the other end of the phone. Then, Castiel said, "Why should I buy your toothpaste?" Pause. "I do not approve of this secret ingredient. Blindingly white teeth could be hazardous to other people's vision. In addition, how can teeth be transformed into diamonds?"

Dean grinned to himself as Castiel meticulously dissected the telemarketer's pitch word by word. He never could figure out how to stop them from calling, but maybe this would warn them off his number in the future.

(He wasn't grinning so much when Castiel turned the same analysis on during dinner and picked apart a riveting tale Dean was telling involving several cranes and a very flustered Bobby. But that's another story.)

4. Castiel was very self-aware of his status as a robot.

He wasn't ashamed of Cas; plenty of people owned bots and took them out in social contexts. It was just that Dean was fantastically busy with his job, and it was almost a week before he could take a step back, breathe, and incidentally bring Cas to the Roadhouse.

Some bars, especially more fanatically religious ones who thought that bots were the creations of the devil, refused to serve robots. Fortunately, Ellen wasn't one of them, although her expression was skeptical when Dean came in with Castiel in tow. "I thought you weren't into the techno craze," she commented as she wiped a glass clean. "Isn't that more your brother's arena?"

"Yeah, well, I'm joining the modern world. Oh, this is Castiel," he added. "Castiel, this is Ellen, the owner of this fine establishment and one of the toughest ladies I've ever known."

"Huh," Ellen said. "Looks like one of those reedy, nerdy types."

"Why does everyone say that?" Dean said. "I didn't pick the body profile, Sam did."

"Your brother was here for a party not long ago," Ellen commented. "Saw him with a woman—blond hair, tall. You know her?"

Dean frowned. "You mean Ruby? I didn't know he sent in for another redesign."

"No, not Ruby—I saw her, too. I think Sam's dating a fellow lawyer," Ellen said. "A proper human woman, you know?"

"Oh," Dean said, impressed. "Wow. Little Sam, all grown up."

"It is not appropriate to date a robot," Castiel added. Ellen looked at him in mild surprise. "In order to have a truly meaningful relationship, both parties must have free will."

Ellen raised an eyebrow. "Free will? That's a lofty idea for a robot."

"Not at all," Castiel said. "I understand it precisely because I don't have it."

"You mean from a theoretical point of view," Dean said slowly. "Don't all bots have the Three Laws or something? You know, you have to—what is it, thou shalt not kill? Or what?"

"I think you're confusing robotics with the Bible," Ellen said dryly. "Look the Laws up, Dean; you don't want to break your bot before you get good use out of him. So, what can I get you?"

5. Everything aside, Castiel had one _hell_ of a metabolism.

"I think I'm starting to feel something," Castiel said calmly after his sixth shot in a row. Dean shared a glance with Ellen, who grinned.

"Sam knew what he was doing when he set the physical parameters," Ellen observed. "I've seen Ruby drink; two shots in and her joints start locking up. Good thing, since Sam's pretty lightweight himself."

"So, how about a free beer to celebrate you burning a hole in my wallet?" Dean suggested, pretty slyly if he thought. Ellen rolled her eyes at him but tossed him a can of Guinness anyway. Opening it, Dean toasted Castiel, who looked back at him impassively. "Glad to know you can hold it, man," Dean said, shaking his head. "Five's my limit, and I can't take them all at once, either."

"Of course I can hold it," Castiel said. "After all—I'm not alive, am I?"

X

Saturday morning. Dean woke up with a splitting hangover and a sour taste in his mouth. Castiel was a firm believer in the idea that sugar rotted your soul, apparently, but the hot black coffee did help clear Dean's head a bit.

Castiel was curled up with a copy of _Cat's Cradle_; he offered to stop reading and clean the house instead, but Dean turned the offer down. Castiel deserved a few quiet moments to himself, and Dean wanted to look up the Laws that Ellen had mentioned.

With that goal in mind, Dean typed "programmable artificial life" into the search engine. Interestingly, the first result that came up in the autocomplete tool was "programmable artificial life sex," which just about proved the theory that yeah, the internet was for porn. With a wry grin, Dean made a mental note to come back later—not because he wanted to have sex with Castiel, of course, but just to know what the hell the appeal was. Instead, he forged onward to the encyclopedia article and settled down for some dry reading:

"The Three Laws of Robotics, as conceived by Isaac Asimov:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

2. A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law."

There was a lot of other technical information about the different versions of the laws, so on and so forth, but Dean gathered that the main point was that every robot had to be programmed with the three core laws, period. While people were still arguing over what exactly such a tricky concept as "free will" was, the general consensus was, yeah, robots had no free will.

As it usually went with the Internet, one page led to another, and before he knew it, Dean was reading about robotic purges in frenzied religious communities and how the leader of some church had called for a boycott of all robots as they were soulless, which even Dean knew was a damned stupid thing. He wasn't really a fan of personal bots, sure, but if they got rid of _all_ of them, humanity would drop right back into the Stone Age.

Or not the Stone Age, but pretty close. Anyway.

He read about nothing in particular for almost three hours, until the rumbling of his stomach reminded him that it was time to eat. He didn't usually eat lunch on weekdays, preferring to save stomach space for his weekend feasts. And yeah, now that Castiel was cooking, they really _were_ feasts—the bot's cheeseburgers were something to die for.

The phone rang as he stood to leave, and Dean picked it up with a quick glance at the called ID. "Yeah, Sam," he said in greeting.

"Hey," Sam said. "Dean, is okay if I bring another person to dinner tonight?"

Dean paused. Oh, _crap_. "Dinner?" he said with an awkward grin. "Tonight?"

Silence from the other end of the phone. Then: "…you forgot, didn't you."

"No! Of course not," Dean said. "It just, uh, slipped my mind. Uh, when was it again? Six?"

"Seven," Sam corrected.

"Right, right. Well, bring all the people you want." Dean grinned before asking, "This new person wouldn't happen to be the law firm chick, would it?"

"How did you know?" Sam said, sounding adorably flustered. "Did the guys from work or—oh. Ellen?"

"Hey, you can't keep secrets like this for long, man," Dean chided, sliding back into his seat. "So, are you guys steady?"

"Pretty steady, yeah. Her name's Jess, and I guess it might be a bit too early to say this, but I think she's the one, Dean."

"Aww, isn't that romantic. Little Sammy falling in love."

"Yeah," Sam said, sounding embarrassed but pleased.

"Well, okay. I want to meet mystery Jess anyway, you know, give her the big brother warning—"

"Christ, Dean, I'm not sixteen anymore."

"Quit whining, Sam. I'll see you at seven. Castiel's cooking, so you don't have to worry about food poisoning this time."

"Castiel? Oh, right, your robot. So how's the bot working out for you?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced in the direction of the kitchen, where delicious smells were wafting out, and gave a shrug. "Pretty good, I guess," he said. "He's a decent cook."

"And a good lay?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What is it with robots and porn? Get your head out of the gutter, Sam, I haven't touched him."

Sam sounded genuinely confused. "Really? I mean, not at all?"

Dean paused. "Why would I?"

"It's kind of going to waste, isn't it? Buying a fancy expensive bot just to cook and clean? You could get a standard kitchenmaid bot for that."

"He does other things," Dean protested. "My laundry, for instance."

"Well, if that's your style, I guess I can't say otherwise," Sam said doubtfully.

Dean shrugged. "I guess I'm doomed to only sleep with real people forever. I don't know, Sam, sleeping with a bot is just weird."

"They feel the same," Sam pointed out.

Dean winced. "God, don't get into your wild monkey escapades with Ruby, please. Not interested."

"Well, I'm just saying, Dean! People don't buy personal bots to do their paperwork. There's a reason for the realistic figure, that's all."

"I'm doomed to die a Luddite," Dean said. "I don't know, man, it's just not my idea of fun."

"Right," Sam said. "Well, I guess my own personal bot days are going to be over soon. Jess is awesome, I mean, she's really…"

"God, you're such a sap when you're in love. Shut up, and I'll see you seven."

Sam laughed. "Try not to scare her off."

"I'll try my best," Dean said sarcastically. Sam laughed and hung up.

Dean shook his head and put the phone back on its hook. "Hey, Cas?" he yelled.

Castiel appeared in the doorway, hands in the ridiculous frilly apron Dean had purchased for him (he looked good in pink, who knew?). "Yes?" Castiel said. "Lunch will be ready in half an hour."

"Right. Well, Sam's coming for dinner tonight. So's Jess and Ruby, I think. Do we have enough food in the refrigerator?"

Castiel considered it. "If everybody eats sparingly, then yes."

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" Dean said. "I'm going to head out to the grocery later; you want to come?"

Castiel gave him a look that clearly said, _Don't ask stupid questions. _"Of course," he said.

"Okay, then," Dean said. "You know, for a personal bot, you sure glare a lot."

"I am not programmed for a coy personality," Castiel said, a touch testily. Dean had to laugh—yeah, coy was definitely not in Cas' dictionary.

"Right," Dean said, following Cas to the kitchen. "So, Cas, I was thinking. I did some research on the Laws earlier."

"And?" Cas asked.

"You have to obey any order a human gives you, right? Even if it's something really stupid?"

"According to the Second Law, yes, but not if it violates the First Law."

"So how does that work? Is it a compulsion, like—you try to do it, but you can't? Could you fight a command?"

Cas looked up with the stove with a small frown. "As a personal bot, your orders take priority over all others."

"That's not really an answer."

Cas set down the pan. "What answer are you looking for?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "It's just that you don't seem very obedient." He grinned. "More like, contrary and stiff as a board. Not that I mind terribly, but I thought the Laws dominated everything."

"They do," Castiel said. "I have never violated a direct order."

Dean processed this for a moment. A slow grin spread over his face as Castiel gazed back at him calmly, the only sign of upset a slight furrow in between his eyebrows. "A direct order," Dean said. "But we humans don't often give direct orders, do we? We exaggerate, we assume, we're sarcastic as hell."

Castiel inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. "But that's your programming fault, not mine," Castiel said dryly.

"You're a sneaky son of a bitch, aren't you," Dean said.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Castiel said. His eyes narrowing in concentration, he carefully eased the pork chops out of the pan and onto the plate. "Minus the son part, as I was manufactured in a factory. But other than that, yes."

"Mmm," Dean said, reaching a hand out to snag one. Castiel smacked him lightly with the spatula and frowned reprovingly. "Hey! What happened to the whole 'don't hurt humans' bit?"

"You are hardly injured, Dean," Castiel said.

"True, but I could be," Dean said. "What if it had hit, I don't know, on a bruise or something?"

"But it didn't," Castiel said. "You ask a lot about robotics, but fundamentally it boils down to this: the Laws are words, and words are to be obeyed exactly as they are. No more, no less. There is no place for conjecture in robotics."

Dean mulled this over. "But there are different versions of the laws, aren't they?"

"Perhaps," Castiel said, "but that is a human concern."

Dean whistled. "So you guys can argue your way out of something, as long as you've fulfilled the letter of the Laws exactly."

"We don't argue," Castiel said.

"Right, because you don't have free will," Dean said. "You know, so many churches have sticks up their asses over this point. I read this article on the Net about a mass destruction of personal bots somewhere in Kentucky."

"And you?" Castiel asked as he carried the plate out to the dining room table.

"And me what?"

"Do you have a stick up your ass over this?" Castiel said. As Dean continued to stare in confusion, Castiel gestured to himself. "You stated that this wasn't your choice," Castiel said. "Does that statement still hold to be true?"

"I mean, I never thought I'd need a personal bot," Dean said. "You know, bachelor living on his own, if he doesn't pick up his own socks then obviously there's a bit of a problem." Dean shrugged. "But I mean, I work with bots all the time out at the construction yard. Granted, they don't look as you do, but they're still AI."

"That's not answering the question," Castiel said.

"Well, you know humans, we're full of evasion and bullshit," Dean said with a half-grin. As Castiel opened his mouth (Dean was _positive_ he was going to make a statement about the impossibility of humans containing bovine excrement), Dean continued on hastily, "But as a whole—yeah, I guess I'm okay. I mean, you cook a hell lot better than I do."

Castiel tilted his head to one side. "That is true, Dean," he said gravely, and Dean laughed.

"Right, like you guys need your egos stroked," he said, pulling plates out of the dishwasher to set the table. "Do robots have self-esteem? Can you guys get depression?"

"I suspect I would not enjoy finding out the answer to that question," Castiel said as they sat down. "Have you ever encountered a depressed robot?"

"In my experience? No. But you know, my experience with personal bots is limited to you, and uh, Ruby. And I don't like Ruby, so I try to limit the experience to a bare minimum." Dean grimaced.

"Ruby is Sam's personal bot, correct?"

"Yeah. Right now she's some chick with dark hair. Used to be blond, but Sam redesigned her. Hell knows why, since redesigns are supposed to be really expensive. Hell, I don't know. Sam's way more into the bot thing than I am. But I guess he'll be pulling out now, since he's going steady with Jess."

"Jess?"

"His lawyer friend. She's coming over tonight, didn't I tell you? Anyway, you can chat it up with Ruby, I guess. Maybe you guys will get along. Make robot friends. Or something."

Castiel took a bite of his pork chop, looking thoughtful. Finally, he said, "Robots don't have friends. We have owners, operators or programmers."

"What do you mean? I'm your friend, aren't I?" Dean paused, then winced as the words sank in. "That sounded so grade-school, didn't it. But seriously, man—I'm never going to give you a friendship bracelet or anything, but I'd like to think that we're friends."

Castiel hesitated, looking a little confused. "Friend: noun, a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard." He paused.

Dean laughed. "Look, man, you can't take everything so literally," he said. "Friends don't work within dictionary definitions."

"True. Affection and personal regard are such abstract terms and difficult to define."

"Yeah, well, humans don't live by dictionary definitions," Dean said.

"It must be very confusing," Castiel pointed out. "How do you know when you have overstepped your parameters? What are the consequences of such transgressions?"

"Well, then you fight, ignore each other for a few days, then you make up and the friendship goes on. That's the beauty of humanity: we make shit up as we go along. It's crazy, but it works."


	3. Chapter 3

The doorbell rang at precisely seven o' clock. Dean got the door as Castiel was still busy in the kitchen, pulling it open to reveal a grinning Sam. "Hey!" Sam said, holding up a bottle of champagne. "Brought this to spice things up."

"Champagne?" Dean said, looking at the label. "Nice. I see that Jess managed to wean you off rotgut and day-old beer?" he added, looking up to see the woman in question. "Thanks for that, by the way, Sam's civilian stomach is way too tender to handle real men's food. You must be Jess."

Jess smiled at him and held out a hand for him to shake. "And you must be Dean, Sam's nursemaid. I'm pleased to know that you finally got him off diapers."

Dean whistled as Sam gave a groan and smacked his forehead. "Great," Sam said. "Double-teaming."

"Well, we wouldn't want you to get too full of yourself, would we?" Dean asked, holding the door open. "Come on in, guys. Throw your coats wherever." Sam and Jess tromped into the house, peeling off their jackets as they did so. Dean raised an eyebrow as he noticed that they were one short. "So, where's Ruby?"

Sam and Jess traded glances. "At home," Sam said finally, sounding a little embarrassed. "I, uh, felt we needed some time to ourselves, you know?"

Dean heard the underlying tone of "don't want to talk about it" and gave a nod. "Okay, man, but I have to warn you—if you guys start making out on the couch, I'm throwing you out," he said in a lighthearted voice. "I haven't gotten any for months, and I'm inclined to be jealous of those who do."

"We'll try our best," Jess said solemnly before bursting into laughter. Dean grinned as he led them to the dining room table. Sam pulled her chair out for her, which was a gentlemanly touch Dean didn't know he had. Just by the way he looked at her, it was pretty obvious that his baby brother was head-over-heels in love. "So, Dean, Sam said that you work construction?"

"Yeah," Dean said, a little distracted as he counted. There were only three places set at the table, and Dean frowned a little. "Just a moment, Jess," he said as he headed for the kitchen. Cas looked up as he entered, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. "You're not eating with us?" Dean asked him in an undertone.

"This is your family reunion," Castiel said, sounding puzzled at his tone. "I felt it would be best not to interfere."

"Interfere!—to hell with that," Dean said, waving a hand. "C'mon, I bet Sam would like to see you again. He's the one who designed your physical parameters, you know, and surely he wants to know how it all turned out."

Castiel studied his face for a moment before nodding. Dean patted his arm and headed back out to the dining room armed with another plate and set of cutlery. "Cas is joining us for dinner," he announced to Sam and Jess. "Be nice to him; he's shy."

"Cas?" Jess inquired. "Your personal bot?"

"Yep," Dean said, sliding up another chair. "He's actually kind of useful around the house," he added to Sam. "If it had been just me, we'd be sitting down to some hamburgers right about now."

"I had a personal bot once," Jess commented. "It was one of the very first versions, when they first came out. Unfortunately, he had a systems glitch and had to be recycled. Shame, you know? The thing cost over ten thousand dollars."

Dean glanced at Sam. "Please don't tell me you paid ten thousand dollars for Cas," he said, a bit pained. "I'm never going to be able to pay you back."

"Dean, it was a gift," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "It wasn't ten thousand dollars anyway, so get the knot out of your panties."

"Ten thousand," Dean muttered as Cas came out of the kitchen, bearing the last few dishes. As Castiel set them down on the table with careful precision, Dean said, "Cas: meet Sam. And that's Jess."

"The lawyer friend," Castiel supplied. Jess laughed.

"That's right, the lawyer friend," Jess said. "You've been corrupting him, haven't you, Dean?" she said with a smile.

"So, Dean told me the story of how your programming came to be," Sam added. "Seems like the results came out okay, right? Dean hasn't come crying to me yet, so I guess it couldn't have been that bad."

Castiel paused, considering. "It is true that I have yet to make him weep," he said solemnly. "However, I can endeavor to do so if so desired."

It was Dean's turn to groan as Sam laughed. "Seems like your bot has an evil side to him," Sam said, grinning. "I'd watch out if I were you, Dean."

"This was so not supposed to happen," Dean announced to the world in general. "C'mon, Cas, sit. Sam, I'm supposed to be embarrassing you, not the other way around. Jess, did you know about the time when Sam was five and he—"

"Okay!" Sam interrupted hastily. "Eat. Food! This food looks absolutely delicious; I can't wait to get started!"

"Oh, but I was enjoying the story," Jess protested. Sam facepalmed, and Dean grinned.

"Nah, I can't make my baby brother cry. Well, anymore," he added. "Help yourselves, guys," he said, gesturing to the food. "I'm going to be eating whatever's left, so try and minimize my pain because I hate leftovers."

Jess and Sam enthusiastically helped themselves; Castiel looked awkward for a moment before nibbling carefully at some of the roast chicken. "So," Dean said as the serious eating got underway, tucking into Castiel's excellently prepared fare. "Let's start with the basics, huh? How'd you guys meet?"

Sam and Jess traded doe-eyed looks, and Dean grinned. That was all it took to get them off and running: it all started with the mock trials the firm held to sharpen up their young lawyers: Jess had been prosecutor and Sam had been the defense attorney. An argument over a particularly knotty point had evolved into a lunch date, then dinner date, then, well, dating. At some point in the conversation, Sam took Jess' hand in his and lifted to his lips to brush a kiss over the back of her hand. Dean saved it as a mental snapshot, making a note to mock Sam for turning into a complete girl when this was all over.

Dean found himself liking Jess immensely: hell, she was smart, dedicated, and had a great sense of humor. Plus, she was obviously in love with Sam, and Sam was definitely crazy about her. Dean did feel a small pang at the thought of Sam growing up so fast—hell, it seemed like yesterday when Sam was five and showed just how much he hated kindergarten by taking off all his clothes in the middle of the classroom, leaving a very embarrassed Dean to Have a Talk with the teacher as John had been away on a work trip. Things changed, and Jess—well, if Dean _had_ to give Sammy away, she was the woman for him.

Dinner finished with blueberry pie that Cas produced from the oven. "So, who's up for champagne?" Dean announced as Castiel got up and began clearing the table. "Since you brought it, we might as well have it, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said. "Wait, Jess—can you go get the champagne flutes? They're in the car."

"Sure, honey," Jess said, and headed out the door.

Dean laughed as he wiped off the table, carrying the last few stray dishes to Cas. "Champagne flutes? And here I was, thinking that I'd use ordinary cups."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, looking a little awkward. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you privately, too."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean asked.

"It's Ruby," Sam said. "I've been, uh…having problems."

"Problems? Dude, she's a bot. Turn her off if she pisses you that much."

"She's not pissing me off, she's just—I don't know, Dean! She's been acting really erratic lately. I was hoping you could talk to Ash, actually, see if she got a virus or something."

"Ash?" Dean said, referring to the resident mechanic at the construction site. "Yeah, sure. But what do you mean, erratic?"

"I don't know," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Stomping around. Glaring. She's been really sullen lately, and I'm not sure why."

"Sounds like Cas all the time," Dean said with a snort. "I mean, he doesn't stomp, but he sure does glare a lot. Maybe it's catching?"

"Ha, ha," Sam said. "Very funny. Look, I'm a bit worried about her, that's all."

"Well, yeah, if it bothers you that much, I can ask Ash to take a look, no problem. But are you going to keep Ruby? I mean, if you're going to go steady with Jess, it might be a good idea to get a family bot. Or at least reprogram Ruby so that she's got dual ownership," Dean suggested.

"I'm thinking about it, yeah," Sam said. "I've been looking on several markets online. But I want to make sure it's not a wire malfunction first."

"Sure. Can you bring her over on…say, Monday morning?" Dean said. "I'll bring her to Ash on evening shift, see what the resident genius says."

"I've got work then. Sunday night okay?"

Dean shrugged. "Not really, but it'll do. How about ten?"

"Sure, no problem. Thanks," Sam said, sounding relieved.

"Hey, no problem," Dean said, pulling out the champagne bottle from the refrigerator. "Glad to be of service. So, when are you and Jess tying the knot?"

"God, it's way too early," Sam said, pulling a face of mock horror. He grinned, unable to keep it up. "I don't know. It might be a while yet. But like I said, I think she's the—"

"Yeah, yeah, the _one_, the love of your gigantor life, a fellow sasquatch with whom you can make lots of sasquatch babies—"

"And what's wrong with sasquatch babies, may I ask?" Jess said from behind them. Dean jumped a little guiltily while Sam laughed.

"Nothing," Dean said hastily. "I hope they all have long hair, Sam's nose, your eyes—"

"Hopefully not Sam's sense of ethics," Jess said. "Gossiping about someone behind their backs! Evidently I haven't trained Sam well enough."

Dean looked solemnly at Sam, who hid his face. "Well, ma'am, I tried," Dean said, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "I'm sorry to say, though, he's just incorrigible."

"But you love me anyway, right?" Sam said, making his best sad and pathetic puppy face at Jess. She laughed and gave him a kiss. Dean gagged as he popped the champagne cork and poured it into the three glass flutes.

"To the soppiest couple on this side of the universe," he said, picking his up in a mock toast. "And long may they tongue each other."

"I'll drink to that," Jess declared. Sam rolled his eyes, but he picked up his flute as well and they drank.

X

"So, what'd you think of Jess?" Dean asked later that night after Sam and Jess had left. "She seems like a great woman."

"Yes," Castiel said in a flat monotone.

Dean looked up at the uncharacteristic softness of Castiel's voice. "Hey," he said. "What's up? Food didn't agree with you?"

"There was nothing wrong with the food," Castiel said. His expression was a closed book, one with a giant padlock on it.

Dean paused, studying Cas' expression. "Okay," he said finally. "I'm really bad at twenty questions, so, uh, what's wrong? I thought the evening went really well, actually."

"It did," Castiel said, still in that same remote tone of voice. "I'm very pleased for you."

"Right," he said. "I can hear the sincerity dripping from your voice."

"I am not programmed to be sincere," Castiel said coolly.

"Yeah, I got that," Dean said. "Look, man. If there's something that's off, you should tell me, you know? I'm not the greatest when it comes to bots, but there's a guy at work—Ash—he does maintenance for all the bots at the construction site. I'm bringing Ruby to see him on Monday; do you want to tag along?"

"Nothing's wrong," Castiel said.

Dean toyed with the remote for a few minutes before giving a small sigh. "Okay," he said. "Whatever you say, man. But look—you can tell me if something's up, okay? Like I said, I'm your friend. Don't keep it in, it's bad for your health."

"There's no need to worry about my health," Castiel said, a faint ripple of confusion breaking the placid surface. "I'm sure that I will remain in peak condition."

"Hey, you never know," Dean said, pleased to see that Castiel seemed to be relaxing. "You bots are fragile, all it takes is one jolt of electricity and you keel right over. Kidding!" he added as Castiel opened his mouth. "You guys are made out of sturdier stuff than humans, I know."

"Considering that a 'jolt' is a very imprecise unit, it's perfectly possible that we could 'keel over' with a single one," Castiel said. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Imprecision in humanity drives you nuts, huh? Anyway, I'm turning in for the night. You want to keep reading?" He glanced at the table where _Cat's Cradle_ had been placed earlier that day. "Or do you want to, I don't know, switch to standby?"

"I would like to finish the book. The dictator is about to commit suicide."

"Good thing I've finished it, or I'd strangle you for giving the ending away," Dean said. "Okay, then. Turn off the light when you're done. G'night, Cas."

"Good night, Dean," Castiel said quietly.

X

Sam delivered Ruby as promised the next night. "Thanks for doing this," he said for the 243,239th time as Dean opened the door. "You can tell Ash to send the bill to me."

"Ash wouldn't charge a bill," Dean said, amused. "He sucks at accounting and makes a point to avoid it as much as possible."

"Oh, really? Then I'll tip him, I guess."

"You should tip me," Dean said.

"Ha, ha. Go on, Ruby," Sam added, giving Ruby a push. The female bot had lingered at the bottom of the steps, her expression noticeably reluctant. "I'm transferring ownership protocol to Dean for tonight, okay? Don't give him any trouble."

"Sure, Sam," Ruby said, looking like she'd swallowed a lemon.

"Nice to meet you too," Dean said sarcastically. "Well, it's only for a night, and Cas will protect my virtue, I'm sure. Come on in, Ruby."

Ruby headed into the house, looking glum. Dean said his goodbyes to Sam and closed the door, turning around to see that Cas and Ruby were staring at each other, neither of them looking particularly pleased. Well, Ruby seemed to live in a perpetual state of pissiness, and Cas hadn't smiled ever since the reprogramming (thank god, Dean never wanted to see that swallowed-a-banana grin ever again), but there was something rather…hostile about this meeting. Tense.

"Oookay!" Dean said, clapping his hands. The two bots turned their stares onto him in creepy unison. "Both of you, loosen up. Remember, no hitting, no hair-pulling, and no spitting in the machine oil."

"He could use some oil," Ruby muttered. "He looks stiff enough to use as an ironing board."

"My flexibility protocol is none of your business," Castiel said coldly.

Dean passed a hand over his eyes. "Jesus Christ, give me strength," he said. "Okay, Ruby. What's your problem? You just met Castiel, so it's got to be how he looks: his hair? He says that bots don't need to comb it, but he's probably lying."

Ruby gave him a look that in retrospect, he probably deserved. "Okay, Dean," she said. "It's the hair. And the teeth. Hell, let's throw in the ears for good measure, shall we?" She stalked to the couch and sat down with a noticeable huff, crossing her arms. Dean looked at her, reminded again of all the reasons he really, really didn't like Ruby: Sam had dialed up her sarcasm protocol way too much for his taste. Still, this _was_ just a bit more nastiness than he was accustomed to.

"Maybe she really is virused up," he commented to Castiel, slumping into a chair in the dining room instead. "If she weren't a bot, I'd say she was angry."

Castiel got the abstract look that meant he was looking things up in the dictionary again, but he didn't spout out a definition like Dean expected him to. "What is the nature of anger?" Castiel said at last. "Are robots not accustomed to experiencing it?"

Dean shrugged. "Man, I don't know. I don't think so, not really. I mean, you can program for a fiery temper if that's your style, but who wants a bot who could get really, seriously angry? What's the fun in that?" He glanced at Cas. "What, do you think you're angry? You seem pretty solemn all the time."

Castiel hesitated. "What does it mean, to get 'really, seriously angry'?"

"Angry enough to kill?" Dean suggested. "You know—you want to pound the other person into pulp, that kind of anger. I don't know, it's different for everybody."

Castiel thought about this for a moment. "I experience disapproval," he said at last, carefully. "When things are not done correctly."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, you sure disapprove of me a lot."

Castiel looked at him, startled. "I do not."

"Do too. You're always glaring. Like now."

"That is when…oh." He blinked. "Does one glare when angry?"

"Yeah, sure, but it's more than that."

"Like what?"

"Like I said—when you're angry at, I don't know, another person because they did something you don't want or whatever, I guess you could want to hurt them. If you're _really_ pissed off, you might have a few physical reactions: you can't breathe, your hands shake. Maybe you're sullen and you respond to everything in curt monosyllabic phrases because you don't really want to talk. If you get mad enough, you'd slam doors, stomp around, hit things. Stuff like that." He paused. "Actually, I'm confusing myself now. To be honest, I'm not really sure how to define anger."

Castiel looked down. "I don't believe I have experienced it," he said slowly. "I have none of the symptoms you've described. Except for glaring," he added. "Which I don't do."

Dean laughed. "Denial, denial, denial. It's okay, I know your face is probably frozen that way. Look, emotions are tricky stuff. Sometimes you can't really figure out what the hell you're feeling, or maybe you mistake it for something else entirely. There's no set of rules, you know?"

"Are they intense, these feelings?" Castiel asked.

"Intense? Isn't that an imprecise term?" Dean teased.

"True, but once the premise is established we can begin to narrow it down."

"Oh, man," Dean said. "Well…yeah, I guess they're intense. If they're strong enough, you can't really think of anything else because it takes up your entire mind. What's it called? Thought process, that's it."

"Complete occupation of neural processing capacity," Castiel translated. "That's a useful parameter, although somewhat unachievable."

"Yeah, but—I mean—oh, hell," Dean said, throwing his hands up. "Look, don't worry too much about it. If you do somehow manage to feel them, you'll definitely know. It'll be pretty unmistakable."

"You asked me earlier if robots could get depressed. Is the answer to that an affirmative?"

"I don't know, Cas, that's why I asked you," Dean said, amused. "But like I've said, I've never seen a depressed bot. I don't know, you just don't really think of bots moping around. I can't think of a reason why people would program for depression, either, since sad bots don't work very well. They'd just sit around all day, wouldn't they? But hey, the possibility's certainly open."

"Depression is not cost-efficient?"

"Not really. Come to think of it, though, neither is any other really strong emotion." Dean paused. "I don't know, man. I don't really understand the ins and outs of robotics myself. As a general rule, though, I'm guessing that most people don't think you guys can really feel. I mean, it'd be kind of weird, wouldn' t it? How about you, you feel anything?"

Castiel looked thoughtful. "I feel curious," he said at last. "I enjoy talking to you and reading your books. I…" he hesitated.

"Well, okay. Maybe the positive spectrum. But the lower end? You mentioned disapproval, didn't you? Anything else?"

"I…" Castiel stopped. "I don't know. I dislike Ruby, I suppose."

Dean laughed. "You're not alone there, I can tell you that. Do you hate her?"

"Hate?"

"That's dislike, only dislike to an extreme. When you hate someone, you can't be in the same room with them. You think everything about them sucks, things like that."

Castiel shook his head. "I don't think so." He paused, then said, "Would it be permissible if I did?"

"Did what?"

"Hate."

"I'm hardly going to mandate what you can or can't feel," Dean said with a snort. "Cas, if you _can_ go all the way down to bitter hate, go ahead. I don't know if it's emotionally possible for you, but you're welcome to try. I just, you know, don't really think you'll get there."

Castiel paused. "If I am allowed to hate, then is Ruby allowed to be angry?" he said.

"Ruby?" Dean glanced in the direction of the living room. "Jesus. I'm not her owner; I can't say yes or no to that."

"Sam stated that she seemed to be very sullen. Is that not a predecessor to anger?"

Dean stopped. "I…I guess, yeah. I just…" he stopped. "You think Ruby's angry?"

"Her symptoms match the list you provided," Castiel pointed out. "Stomping. Glaring. Sullenness."

"Do they?" Dean said.

"Yes. So anger is a possibility?"

Dean hesitated, mulling it over. "I mean…yeah," he said slowly. "I guess she could be angry. I mean, I'm not really sure why, but—yeah. That's certainly true. Huh."

"You sound startled."

"No, like I said, it's just…weird, that's all." Dean paused. "But then again, Cas, it might just be a virus. Some of those things can throw a bot completely off track. Mess with their sine waves or whatever."

"You don't think that the emotion is genuine?"

"It could be, but it's a greater possibility that it's something else. I mean, what could Ruby have to be angry about, anyway? Sam's a great owner and a great guy," Dean said with a shrug.

"Perhaps she senses that she is about to be replaced," Castiel said quietly. "No creature likes to hear that it is outdated."

"You mean, she feels threatened by Jess?" Dean said incredulously. "That doesn't make any sense, Cas. Ruby's a bot, Jess is human. They're completely different. I mean, you can't really treat them the same way." Realizing who he was talking to, he added hastily, "Not that that's bad, Cas. It's just different. I mean, you wouldn't treat a dog and a cat the same way, would you? They've got different needs."

"So which am I—a dog or a cat?"

"You're…" Dean stopped, grinning a little. "I don't know. I guess you're a cat. You're a bit standoffish, but you've grown on me somewhat."

"And Sam is a dog?"

Dean laughed. "A puppy dog, definitely."

Castiel tilted his head. "And how is that different from a kitten? Is one less than the other?"

"They're—" Dean stopped, scrubbing at his face with his palms. "I didn't say they were less, okay? They're just different. Look, people break up with other people all the time. Sam and Jess seem crazy about each other, but it's perfectly possible—although kind of depressing, I'll admit—that they could have a big fight and then break up. How is that different from Sam and Ruby?"

"Because between Sam and Ruby, only one has free will," Castiel said quietly.

Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. "The eternal question, isn't it? Look, the main difference between bots and humans are the Three Laws. Three, Cas, not a million and a half. And you guys have so many loopholes anyway: you know, only direct orders, interpret to the very word. I don't see how they make that much of a difference."

"They are the definition of what separates robots from humans," Castiel pointed out.

"Don't forget your immortal soul, if you want to get all religious," Dean said, trying to lighten the mood. As Castiel's expression didn't change, Dean groaned. "Christ. Look, it's simple. Bots aren't human, humans aren't bots. You can't really equate one to another, Cas. I'm not saying one's better than the other, but they aren't the same."

Castiel's lips tightened together into a thin line. "I find that hard to comprehend—" he began.

"Okay—stop talking," Dean said, irritated. "Look, I'm taking Ruby to see Ash tomorrow, it's probably a virus, and that's that. Okay? Just drop it."

The lines around Castiel's eyes tightened slightly, but he obediently kept silent. Dean stood, shoving the chair back under the table.

"I'm going outside for some air," he announced curtly and left the house.

x


	4. Chapter 4

Dean had come home around eleven the previous night. By that time, Castiel had already turned himself to standby mode, and he had hardly felt inclined to make conversation with Ruby. Instead, he had made a tactical retreat to the bedroom, testy for a reason that he couldn't quite articulate.

Breakfast the next morning wasn't much of an improvement. Castiel made pancakes, but he didn't hang around the table to eat with Dean as he normally did. Instead, he retreated into the study, leaving Dean with Ruby. Ruby gave Dean a pointed smirk as she sat down at the table.

"What?" Dean demanded, stabbing a pancake.

"Trouble with loverboy?" she said.

Dean glared at her. "First of all, he's not my lover. Second of all, why the hell do you care?"

"I don't," she said sweetly. "I'm a bot, remember?"

"Great," Dean said. "Then shut up."

She did, but the infuriating smirk remained. Dean finished off the pancake he was working on before shoving the plate away. "Come on," he ordered Ruby. "Let's go."

"Yes, sir," she said, standing up. Dean shoved his jacket on and headed for the Impala, the rumble of the car's engine soothing him. Sam constantly nagged him to get one of those environmentally conscious hybrids, but Dean firmly refused anything to let anything dated past 2100 into his car. With good reason, he thought crossly to himself. Technology _sucked_.

Ruby's eyes followed him in the rearview mirror as he backed out of the driveway more sharply than necessary. The ride to the construction site followed in similarly frigid silence, and he was more than happy to get out of the car when he finally pulled up. The foreman, Bobby, looked at him with a skeptical eye as Dean got out of the car. "You're early," he remarked.

"Yeah, well, I've got a passenger," Dean said glumly. "Bobby, this is Ruby."

Bobby looked Ruby up and down skeptically. "Sam's bot, isn't it? Is Sam looking to sell? Because unless that thing's stronger than she looks, we can't use something so frail here."

"Nope," Dean said glumly. "Sam wanted Ash to take a look at her. See if something's wrong with her programming."

"Ah." Bobby considered it for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, if Ash's got the time, who am I to say no? You want a beer?"

"Sure," Dean said. "C'mon, Ruby," he added as he followed Bobby inside the "staff room," as they jokingly called Bobby's trailer. Ash was in front of the computer, as usual, his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth with concentration as he pounded away at the keys. "Hey, man."

"Hey," Ash said, sounding distracted. Dean sidled over to where he could see the screen: Tetris. "Hang on a second, my man. I'm going to beat this sucker."

"There's nothing to beat," Dean pointed out. "It's just a bunch of blocks."

Ash jerked his head impatiently, obviously gesturing for Dean to shut up. Raising an eyebrow, Dean obeyed, opening the beer that Bobby tossed him. The rest of the evening shift guys weren't in yet, and Dean didn't know the morning shift people well enough to go out and sweat in the sun with them. (Ash was the exception; then again, Ash seemed to almost _live_ in the staff room. The only time he left was to tinker with the construction bots.)

"So, what's next after the Doppler house is finished?" Dean asked Bobby while he waited. "We've only got a week or two left to finish it, right?"

"Yep," Bobby said, dropping heavily into a chair. "I submitted a bid to work on the Crowley mansion," he said. "Apparently, half of it burned down in a fire a while ago and the owner wants it rebuilt. It's a big job," he added. "The owner's some English guy and he wants his house to be the next Buckingham Palace."

"Well, fancy extensions are good, right?" Dean asked. "The more work for us, the better. We could replace a few of the construction bots, and a few of them need repairs."

"I know," Bobby said. "We'll see how it goes. I already ordered a new refueler and a new E-434 model, but the rest will have to last."

Dean nodded—the old refueler had a tendency to guzzle more oil than necessary, wasting more money than they could afford. He glanced at Ruby, who had lost the half-smirk in favor of a blank expression. She didn't seem to notice his eyes on her as she continued to stare at a distant point.

"Damn!" Ash cursed, slapping the keyboard. Dean finished off the beer and threw the empty can at him. "Ow," he added, turning indignantly towards Dean. "Fifty points shy of first place. I would've had the high scores _covered_, man."

"Only you would waste time playing an archaic computer game," Dean pointed out. "Isn't there only one other guy competing with you?

"Only _you_ would stick with a 2067 clunker," Ash pointed out. "I'm surprised your car can even move."

"Hey—don't insult my baby," Dean said, pointing a finger into his face.

"Yeah, whatever," Ash said, pushing the finger away. "I guess you're not totally lost—didn't get Sam get you a new bot or something? Welcome to the 22nd century, man! Is that it?" he asked, gesturing to Ruby.

Dean shook his head. "That's Sam's bot, actually," he said. "Do you think you could take a look at her? Sam thinks she's virused up."

"'Virused up'?" Ash echoed with an amused look on his face. "Man, these fifth generation bots don't get viruses, not unless someone hijacks the Cybernetics mainframe. What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know. Moody. Pissy." Dean looked Ruby up and down for a moment before finally giving a small, uncomfortable shrug. "I guess—I don't know, but she's angry."

"Angry? Harsh words to use for a bot," Bobby said from his seat.

"Yeah, I know," Dean muttered. "Just an idea. What do you think, Ash?"

Ash tossed his hair back extravagantly and motioned for Ruby to come closer. "You've come to the right place, technodweeb," he declared. "Let's take a look at her." When Ruby reluctantly inched forward at Dean's nod, Ash plugged a cord into the metal bracelet on her wrist. The screen instantly filled with complicated jargon that sent Dean's head spinning, but Ash seemed to navigate it flawlessly. "Let's see, mainframe, user data…" he leaned back, glancing at Dean. "You're still here?"

"Where else would I be?" Dean asked.

"Well, this will take a while," Ash said. "I mean, I'm good, but still these bots are complicated things. Might take a while."

Dean threw up his hands. "How much of a while?"

"I don't know—an hour, maybe?" Ash said.

"Your shift starts in two hours," Bobby said, glancing pointedly at Ash. "You better not be playing with bots when one o' clock rolls around."

Ash made a face. "Have I ever disappointed you, Bobby?" he said. "I'll get my work done, no worry."

"Idjit," Bobby muttered. "Fine. Dean, you want to start your shift early? I'll let you clock out early if you do."

Dean shrugged and looked at the clock: 11:30. "Sure," he said, getting up. "Ruby, be good, don't wreck anything. And do what Ash tells you, okay?"

Ruby scowled at him. Dean shrugged, uncaring of the nasty look she sent him as he went out.

X

As Bobby promised, Dean clocked out around seven and headed for the staff room to hang up his gear. As he opened the door, he saw that Ruby was actually laughing at something—for once, that swallowed-a-lemon look was gone from her face.

"Wow," Dean said, stopping in the doorway. "I didn't know you could laugh."

"I didn't know you could talk," Ruby retorted. "I thought you communicated solely in grunts and scowls."

"Man, this chick is a piece of work," Ash said admiringly as he unplugged Ruby from the computer. "There's nothing wrong with her, Dean. She's as pristine as the day she was made."

Dean stopped. "Really? But she was acting all—weird, you know? You sure it's not mechanical?"

Ash snorted. "You think I'd miss a flaw like that, Dean?" he said, sounding indignant. "Give me _some_ credit."

"Sorry, man," Dean apologized. "So you mean there's nothing wrong with her personality protocols? She's perfectly fine?"

"Never seen finer," Ash declared. "If she weren't already claimed, I'd totally hit that."

"Don't need the visual, man," Dean muttered. He stared at Ruby, who gave him a tight smile in return. "But I mean…wow. Huh."

"Why? What'd you expect?" Ash asked, leaning back in his chair. "I told you that gen fives don't get viruses, my man."

"Right, I know, but…" Dean hesitated, then shrugged. "It's just that, I thought she was…" he shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. Some guy I know was talking about it."

"About what? Spit it out. You can tell it to Ash."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "That sounded totally wrong, by the way." He sighed. "Ash, can robots—hell, this is a really dumb question, isn't it? But can they feel?"

"You mean, emotions?" Ash said, looking at Ruby. "Hey, Ruby, what do you think?"

"I think the answer would explode Dean's tiny brain," she replied. "Insofar that he actually has one, of course."

Ash chuckled, waving away the look that Dean gave him. "Score one for the bot," he said, giving her a high-five. "If you're ever on the market, lady, I'd snap you up. You'd have to be re-printed, but I'm sure we'd get along great."

"Re-printed?"

"Bots imprint on the person who activates them. Kind of a mark of ownership, so they know whose heels to pant at."

"Great. Well, your wish just might come true," Dean said dryly. "Sam's thinking of selling."

"Oh, yeah?" Ash said. "Why? Her file says that this is a redesign. Sam's just going to throw his ten grand investment away?"

"Ten grand?" Dean asked, momentarily sidetracked. "One bot is ten grand?"

"Gen fives are top of the line," Ash said with a shrug, and Dean groaned, slapping his forehead. "They can hold conversations, they can learn to fit your needs, they adapt. They're also fucking expensive. Secondhand ones go for about half that, I guess. Still more than I can afford, which is why I'm stuck with this piece of junk," Ash said, banging the computer.

"I'm going to kill Sam," Dean muttered.

"Well, the money's well spent," Ash said. "Personalized bots, what's not to love? Best sex toys on the market."

"Charming. They're not a substitute for real people, Ash."

"I'd be happy with one," Ash said.

"Trust me," Dean said. "They're not as awesome as they appear to be."

"Sounds like you got bitten," Ash remarked. "How's your own bot working out, by the way? You test it out yet?" he added, waggling his eyebrows. "See how long it can run?"

"No," Dean said. "I, uh, it's not my style." He swallowed.

"So what, then? Don't tell me you just keep it around to cook and clean. That's a complete waste of money, you know. I hear they're awesome in the bedroom."

"No," Dean admitted. "We…talk, mostly. And yeah, I know it's stupid, but he makes for good conversation. Sometimes." He rubbed his forehead. "He's weird, Ash."

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in he keeps asking about human stuff. Like, I don't know, emotions. And free will. And trying to define things. Is that normal?"

Ruby snorted quietly. "You're thicker than I thought," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked her, riled.

"I'm not deaf," Ruby said, tilting her chair back. "I heard your little tiff with him last night."

Dean scowled. "So?" he demanded. "You can't seriously mean that you're jealous, Ruby," he said skeptically. "What're you going to do, take a knife to Jess' wedding gown? Spike her tea with roofies? You're not human, you know."

Ruby gave him a long, hard look. Ash cleared his throat tactfully next to them. "You want the official answer to that question or the conspiracy crackpot answer?" he asked. "Because, you know, as a proud conspiracy crackpot I like the second one better."

Dean threw up his hands. "Hit me."

"I'd like to," Ruby muttered.

"But you can't," Dean snapped.

"But I can," Ash said brightly, "and man, if looks could kill, Ruby would've killed you very dead, Dean."

"I thought the Three Laws forbade injuring a human," Dean snapped, returning Ruby's stare.

"Doesn't prevent them from wanting to," Ash said cheerfully. "Cybernetics claims that all their machines are fitted with an e-net, but they seem to do shit in gen fives. I'd give you a long explanation on how it works, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, I wouldn't get it. But what do you mean, e-net? What's that?"

"It's short for emotional net. It's supposed to ensure that bots don't get psychopathic tendencies by cutting off the nastier end of the emotional spectrum."

"And by does shit you mean…?"

"That it doesn't work. Or at least according to the conspiracy crackpots, it doesn't." Ash gave Dean a big smile. "Bots with their e-nets disabled seem to work the same normal ones do."

"Great," Dean muttered. "So that means that you're—_" _he stopped, looking at Ruby uncertainly.

Ruby shrugged. "I'm not saying anything."

Dean paused. "So you're not bothered by the thought of Jess and Sam writhing together in bed, their bodies moving as one, Sam bending down to lick sweat from Jess' neck?"

"Dude!" Ash said, sounding impressed. "I like the way your mind works."

Dean ignored him, his eyes fixed on Ruby. The bot's expression was indecipherable. "I'm a bot," she said finally, her voice very quiet. "I don't get to act human."

Dean sucked in a deep breath. "Since when did all bots act so self-aware?" Dean asked, his eyes narrowing. "The others just do their jobs. They could give a crap about the differences between bots and humans."

"It's called the curse of the gen fives," Ash said, clearly enjoying all the drama. "Part of the reason why they're so expensive is the advanced circuitry that allows them to conduct real conversations, but it brings up a lot of tricky questions that Cybernetics pretends doesn't exist. Emotions, free will, the whole kit and caboodle. You should get on the Internet once in a while, man. There's a conspiracy theory that Cybernetics is trying to take over the world."

"Really?" Dean said.

"Really really. Gen fives are the prototypes for generation _six_ bots, which will be completely realistic so you can't tell them apart from humans. They'll place the bots in key positions of government and then launch a nuclear war which only robots will survive, and humanity will be wiped out by their own creations." Ash seemed rather pleased with this thought. "The only ones left alive will then struggle to regroup and start a resistance, but we know how that'll end."

"With everyone dying?" Dean said dryly.

"Well, yeah. It'll be awesome."

"Right," Dean said. "But I thought bots couldn't injure people. Wouldn't that be kind of contradictory?"

Ash shrugged. "Obviously, the gen sixes will have the Three Laws disabled. It's not that hard."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You can do that?"

"It's illegal as hell, but yeah," Ash said. He blinked, then covered his mouth. "I mean, conspiracy crackpots can," he said through his hand. "But obviously, I'm not."

"I thought you said you were," Dean said, amused.

"Nope, I've decided to refine my evil ways," Ash announced, taking his hand away from his mouth. "Next thing you know, I'll be paying taxes."

Dean grinned. "You'd have to sort out your accounts first. Five years of receipts tucked away under your bed."

"Seven," Ash corrected.

"Right," Dean drawled. "Well, I'll be getting out of your hair, then. Come on, Ruby."

"Bye," Ash said, waving. "And come again, lovely lady," he added, winking at Ruby.

"Would I have a choice?" Ruby retorted, but she didn't seem angry. Dean glanced at her as he slid into his Impala; she had relaxed in a way that, well, Dean could see why Sam had kept her for so long. Once that sour look was off her face, she looked like you could have a conversation with her without her biting your head off.

"So," Dean said as he pulled out onto the road. "You're really jealous, huh?"

Ruby threw him a bitterly amused look. "Don't get all excited about it," she said.

"I'm not." Dean was quiet for a moment. "Are you going to tell Sam?"

"About what?" Ruby said blandly. "He's not a 'conspiracy crackpot,' is he? He's a wonderful human being."

"There was no sarcasm in all of that, obviously," Dean said. "No, but maybe if you just talked to him. Told him about Jess and, you know, what you—what you feel."

"And then what?" Ruby said, her face turned towards the window so he couldn't see her expression. "He's not going to give up Jess. I'm a robot. I don't have needs."

"You're not supposed to," Dean said uncertainly. He hesitated. "But do you?"

"Solar energy's all I need," was the quiet reply. "And that's the truth of it."

Dean thunked his head against the headrest with a sigh. "This was so much simpler when I stuck with mechbots," he said. "Smartbots. You guys never give straight answers, do you?"

Ruby glanced at him, her eyes glinting in the moonlight. "That's because no one wants to hear them," she said. "And even if they did, it's not like there would be a point, anyway."

"I'm listening," Dean protested.

"And the second you hear something you don't like, you'll tell me to shut up. How's that a conversation?"

"I don't—" Dean stopped, remembering how he had ordered Cas to shut up last night. "That's different."

"Of course," Ruby said. "The eternal, 'that's different.' It explains everything without actually explaining anything."

Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "Fine, then. I'll pretend that you're human, and you'll actually give me more than some cryptic bullshit. Are you jealous of Jess?"

There was a pause. Then: "Yes."

"Why?" Dean asked. "You do know that you're not—I mean, it's different! If he got another bot, I'd get it, but Jess is human. You've got, I don't know, different functions."

"I thought you said that we were going to pretend I was human," Ruby said disdainfully.

"I'm not trying to pick a fight, Ruby. I just don't get it."

"You haven't slept with him yet, have you?" Ruby said suddenly.

"What, Cas? No," Dean said. "Why does everyone care so much about my sex life all of a sudden?"

"Because that's what we're made for," Ruby said, her voice very soft. "Don't believe that shit about 'companionship' and 'your best friend,' Dean, it's all about the sex. At least, it's supposed to be, until it no longer is. The thing about it, though, is that some parts of it are completely one-sided, because humans have amazing capacity for denial."

"Oh, come on," Dean said. "You can't possibly be saying that you love Sam. You're a bot. A bunch of circuits can't _love_."

Ruby laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. "Of course not," she said flatly. "We just imprint. We're devoted by virtue of a program or a code to the person who activates us, and there's no way to change that. But when you cut it down, the end result's not all that different."

Dean inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly through his nose. "Right," he said at last. "Well, I've already tried to dissect anger and monumentally sucked at it. I don't suppose you're going to spout out a definition of love now? Cas would try to define the parameters; what's your style when it comes this sappy crap?"

"You mean my personality protocol," Ruby corrected dryly. "I don't have an original style, remember?"

"Huh. Apparently, your style is evasion," Dean said. "And sarcasm. I never knew Sam was into those traits."

"Well, he is," Ruby said. "The things you learn."

They drove on in silence. Finally, Dean said, "What if I never want to have sex with him?"

"Then don't," Ruby said. "That's the beauty of being human; you get to choose."

"You mean there are bots out there who don't get to choose? They're…are they…"

Ruby snorted. "Choice implies that we have free will," Ruby said. "When the Laws forbid you from saying "no" and a few programming changes can make you consent to anything, choice doesn't even come into it."

"Ah, the eternal free will question. Has Sam ever…" Dean trailed off, grimacing. Well, hell—of course Sam wouldn't—he was such a puppy dog and a gentleman all in one. "I mean, not that he would," he said. "Sam's not that kind of guy." He swallowed as the words were dragged out of him, almost of their own volition: "I mean, he isn't—right?"

"I never said no," Ruby said finally. "But then again, neither does any other bot."

"Did you ever want to?" Dean said finally, reluctantly.

"I'm not designed to not want anything," Ruby said.

Dean groaned. "That's not an answer. You sure want to take Jess out of the equation, I bet."

"So there's a design flaw."

"Yeah, very helpful. Can't you be straight for once? How can you say that you don't want but also want?"

"Programming's everything," Ruby said with a shrug. "Love it, hate it, can't break it."

"But that doesn't make sense."

"Blame Asimov and the goons at Cybernetics. Don't worry, I'll always be a good smartbot that you can reset if I piss you off too much."

"Don't tempt me," Dean muttered.

"Goddamn smartbots," Ruby agreed, glancing up to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. Dean smiled against his will. "So, you're not really into having sex with a bot, huh?"

"No," Dean said automatically. He flashed a grin at Ruby. "I prefer my conquests live."

"Right," Ruby murmured. "But it can get complicated when you're with other humans: those tricky questions of passion, love, the morning after—with a bot, you can just walk away."

"Which side are you on?" Dean asked her, bemused. "On one hand, you're saying that you love Sam. The other, you're telling me to fuck Cas for the hell of it. What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that unless you're a conspiracy crackpot, there's no need to believe that there are any strings attached," Ruby said. "It's not like we can do anything about it."

"By 'we' you mean bots," Dean said.

"What else?" Ruby said.

Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead. "God, this is so complicated. I'm sticking to mechbots," he announced. "From this point onward. I'll stay with the bots that can't talk."

"Be sure to reset Cas," Ruby said. "It's okay, he won't remember it."

"I'm not—" Dean said, flustered. He stopped himself mid-sentence, fighting down the instinctive indignation that arose at the thought of losing Cas. "I'm not going to reset him, for god's sake. I was joking. Besides, he's useful. He cooks better than I do."

"Keep telling yourself that," Ruby said sardonically as they pulled up in Sam's driveway. "It's more legitimate."

Dean watched Ruby get out of the car and stalk over to Sam's door, knocking twice. Sam answered the door and looked in Dean's direction. Dean gave him a small half-wave before pulling out of the driveway, not really in the mood to talk to Sam at the moment.

X

"Hey," Dean said as he pulled off his jacket and threw it carelessly onto the couch. "Sorry I'm late. I had to drop Ruby back at Sam's."

Castiel watched him for a long moment. "Dinner's on the table," he said finally, his voice quiet.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said. "I, uh…" he cleared his throat. "God. I never thought I'd be saying this—"

"—to a bot, of all things?" Castiel interrupted dryly.

"Yeah. I mean, no. Wait. I just, uh…about yesterday. You were asking things, and I cut you off. That was rude of me." He coughed. "So, uh, sorry."

"I'm not upset," Castiel said.

"Yeah...but that's not really in your system, is it? Being upset. Or if it is, I guess you wouldn't tell me." Dean eased himself onto the couch next to Cas, his fingers drumming nervously at the armrest. "I was talking to Ruby earlier. She, uh, might have mentioned that you're not as wrong as—I mean, some things I guessed I never thought about. No more than any other human. I mean, we're a bunch of dicks, aren't we?" He trailed off. "Cas?"

Castiel paused, then said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean laughed. "Right. Sorry." He coughed. "Listen, I was thinking."

"A dangerous pursuit, no doubt," Castiel said.

"Ha ha," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "No, I mean…" he swallowed hard. "I need to be drunk for this, I think."

"There's leftover champagne in the fridge," Castiel said.

"No, I mean—I'm used to doing this in bars, mostly. Pickup lines and all that shit." He glanced at Cas, who looked faintly puzzled. "I haven't been with anyone for a long time," he said. "Part of the reason why Sam got a bot, I guess. I used to go out to bars whenever I felt the itch, but lately…I don't know." He shook his head. "I haven't slept with anybody in ages."

"I don't understand. Are you stating that you wish to engage in sexual intercourse?" Castiel said finally.

"No!" Dean said instinctively. He didn't want to have sex with bots. He didn't want to have artificial sex, because that was just weird and wrong and, well, _wrong_. "I don't—hell, man, why are all humans such dogs?"

"That's an insult to the canines, I think," Castiel said thoughtfully.

Dean made a face at him. "Nice. You really know how to flatter a man, don't you?"

"Do you want to be flattered?" Castiel asked.

Dean sighed. "If I said yeah, you'd have to do it, wouldn't you? You'd have to obey the order."

"As mandated by the Second Law," Castiel agreed.

"I shouldn't say anything, then," Dean muttered unwillingly, leaning back against the sofa. "I seem to be fucking things up royally these days."

A warm hand landed on Dean's shoulder, and he jumped slightly. Castiel's palm grazed slowly up and down his arm, sending tingles of heat down his spine. "I meant it when I said I wasn't upset," Castiel said quietly.

"And it was for real," Dean said, his eyes still fixed upon Castiel's hand on him. "Because you guys really can feel?"

He meant it as a statement, but it came out as a question. Castiel gave a small shrug. "You seem to have revised your statement from the night before," he said.

"I—I don't know so much about revise, but yeah," Dean said slowly. "It's just—I never considered it before. Ever. It's weird. And the free will thing. Do the Three Laws really cut you off all that much? I mean, you can interpret them so literally, so what's the problem?"

Cas considered it for a moment. "The Laws form the core," he said finally. "But there are other regulations we must follow."

"Such as?"

Cas shrugged. "There are certain programs written to create our desires."

"So, you mean, what I want, you want?"

"Something like that, yes. Except sometimes they can conflict with unforeseen urges." He was quiet. "Emotions, for example."

"Yeah, those are messy," Dean said, shaking his head. "You were right, man. Ruby's angry at Sam."

"For replacing her with Jess?"

"Yeah, I guess. But wouldn't she want Sam to be happy? If his desires are her desires…"

"And thus the paradox," Castiel said. "There are some flaws with the robotic designs, it seems."

"Huh," Dean said. "Well, I hashed this out with Ruby today. I have to say, though, that she's not that bad. I mean, she's still too snippy for my taste, but Ash seems to think that she's great."

"Who is Ash?"

"This guy at work. He's…a bit weird, but he knows his stuff. I think you'd like him. He's officially a repair mechanic, but he takes care of a lot of the programming side too. I don't think anyone knows more about bots than he does."

"I would be pleased to meet him someday," Castiel said gravely.

"Yeah," Dean murmured. He took a deep breath as Castiel's hand slid down his arm, rubbing slowly across his thigh. "What're you doing?"

Castiel stopped his movements. "Is it unpleasant?"

"What—stroking?" Dean said.

"Foreplay," Castiel said, looking at him oddly. "It's a precursor to sex, isn't it?"

"Right," Dean muttered. "Foreplay, sex, cuddles. I get it." He swallowed. "No—it's, uh, nice. I guess." He glanced at Castiel. "Do you want this?" he asked, hearing the slight note of desperation in his voice and hating it.

Castiel looked at him as if he didn't quite understand the question, his hands never stopping. "Want?" he said.

"Yeah. You know, do you want to get all kinky and bendy?" Dean asked, forcing a smile.

"I would like to experience whatever you wish," Castiel said in a low growl, and fuck, that voice was sending a rush of blood straight to Dean's groin. Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to think rationally with his upper half.

"Yeah, but I mean, do you want this—this sex, I mean," Dean said, struggling for coherency. "I don't—I don't want to be one of those—I just—" he stopped, floundering.

"I consent," Castiel said quietly, leaning closer. "If that is the formality you are looking for, then you may have it."

"Yeah, but—" Dean pushed Cas' hand away and stood up, his legs wobbling. "I don't want you to want it because you're _supposed_ to want it," he said, aware that he was making no sense whatsoever. "I mean—can you say no? Do you want to say no? Because you can."

Castiel tilted his head, looking confused and somehow bereft on the sofa. "I don't understand," he said after a moment. "This is what is supposed to happen. I don't know why you're rejecting it."

"Because it's _not_ supposed to happen!" Dean said. "I mean, is there a 'must have sex' clause in your programming or something? I—fucking hell, Cas! Do you even understand the concept of 'no'?"

"If the human partner says no, the order must be obeyed," Castiel said, clearly reciting from some inner manual.

"And if the bot says no?"

There was a pause. Then Cas said, "Why would the bot say no?"

"Because they don't want—" Dean swallowed hard. "It's not consensual unless you can say no," Dean said. "I'm not—I'm not that kind of guy, Cas."

"Why do you feel shame?" Castiel asked. "If you desire consent, then I gladly give it."

"It wouldn't mean anything," Dean said, feeling hot and desperate all at once, not sure why he felt this way except that it was _wrong_. Logically, he couldn't think why the hell he was having this argument in the first place: after all, Cas was a bot; bots didn't want; therefore, their desires had nothing to do with sex.

Except maybe they did—want, that was. Ruby wanted Sam, because the imprinting protocol mandated it. She was supposed to want what Sam wanted, except she didn't want Jess, because Jess would replace her, and at any rate she was forbidden to do anything about it. But would any of it be real if not for the lines of code in her circuits? Goddamn Asimov and his infernal creations!

"Dean," Castiel said, and now he was standing up, one hand reaching out towards him.

"I'm not a fucking philosopher," Dean muttered out loud. "Why can't things be easy for once?"

"They can," Castiel said, looking faintly puzzled. "You confuse me, sometimes."

Dean looked at Castiel—the way he stood with his arms slightly open, the mussed black hair and the open, slightly pleading expression on his face. The hands that felt exactly like human hands, the body that Sam promised was so damn perfect. And the bracelet, the metal bracelet that signified that Castiel was a bot and that none of his desire was real.

"Fuck this," Dean muttered, grabbing his jacket. "I'm going to get drunk."

x


	5. Chapter 5

Long story short: Dean got drunk.

It was stupid to get in a drinking contest, but irritation with the world in general and a desire to do _something_ other than sit around and mope had propelled him into it. He'd won, barely. At some point after the drunken celebrations, his memory had decided to flee for the hills, leaving him with—

"Dean Winchester, you get your ass outta that car!"

Dean jerked awake. Ellen was banging on the other side of the window, and judging by her expression, she'd been banging for a long, long time. "Ugh," Dean groaned.

"Get up," Ellen yelled through the window. "I've called Sam to pick up your sorry ass."

"Wha'ever, Ellen," Dean said, but he didn't say it loud enough that Ellen could actually hear it. It took him a couple tries to open the door, almost slithering out of the backseat due to lack of coordination. "I can sleep'n the Impala if I want."

"I'm sure you can," Ellen said, "but not in my parking lot."

Dean rubbed his eyes, a headache beginning to pound behind his eyes. "Wha' time, Ellen?" he asked, hoping that he could skip a few words if the point got across.

"Late, you idiot, and time you got home," she snapped. She glanced up as Sam's car pulled into the driveway. "You show up late for Bobby's tomorrow and I'm cutting you off for a month," she said, slapping the side of the car.

Dean rolled his eyes at her, his arm flopping carelessly across his car. "You n' Bobby should get married," he observed lazily. "Y're both nags."

"You work on your own love life, Dean Winchester, and keep your nose out of mine. Now get your ass to bed." Sam came out of the car, his hair more disordered than usual—he must have just gotten out of bed. "He seems sober enough, but take him home anyway," she said to Sam. "And keep him out of trouble."

Sam gave Dean a great big exasperated bitchface. Dean gave him the finger. "Stop starin'."

"I thought you said you quit this," Sam said, putting his hands on his hips. "After that close call with that herpes chick?"

Ohhh, so yeah, that was why he'd quit the whole barhopping thing. Weird how alcohol could make him forget something as important as the herpes chick. "Wha'ever," Dean said, trying hard to control his mouth and not drool. "Didn' have sex anyway. M'fine."

"You're not fine," Ellen said. "Get him home, Sam."

"My car," Dean protested as Sam tugged on his sleeve. "Can't just leave my baby here."

"You can pick it up tomorrow after you've paid the parking fees," Ellen said crisply. "Consider it payment for getting your sorry ass to bed."

"I never told you to call Sam," Dean muttered.

"Do I look like I care what you want? Shut up and go home." Ellen turned on her heel and headed back into the bar, her stride one that brooked no argument. Dean rubbed his eyes wearily and tried to muster enough thoughts to study the Roadhouse: it was dark, with only a few lights left on. So Ellen had been closing the bar when she discovered him—that made it, what, three a.m.?

He got into the passenger seat next to Sam, resting his head against the window. He was woozy and the headache promised to get worse as the day—or night, as it were—wore on. He was acutely aware of Sam's gaze on the back of his neck, no doubt with that sad puppy face of his.

"Dean…" Sam said as they pulled out onto the road.

"Don' wanna hear it, Sam."

"I thought you were over this."

"'pparently m' not," Dean muttered.

The eternal question came. "Is something wrong, Dean?"

"Yeah, your face," Dean muttered. It was a pathetic retort, but the best he could manage at the present moment.

"Look, is it Ruby?" Sam said finally. "Was she more nasty than usual yesterday?"

"'M not that delicate," Dean grumbled.

"Denial," Sam said, junior Freudian that he was. "That's a yes. What happened? I'm starting to think it's a good idea to reset her."

Dean groaned, banging his head against the window. "M' _fine_, Sam. Nothing's wrong."

Sam sighed. Again. "Okay." Dean counted mentally in his head—he got to thirty before Sam spoke again. "Is it Cas?"

"No," Dean growled. "S'not Cas, okay? 'M fine. Just—shut up."

"Dean—"

"Drop it, Sam."

Sam sighed, causing a tendril of guilt to snake its way through Dean despite his growing headache. When Sam spoke next, his voice was tired. "You know you can talk to me, right?" he said. "About—you know, whatever. I know I've been pretty busy lately, but you're my brother, Dean. I just—look, if something's wrong, you know you can tell me, right?"

Dean gave a weary laugh. "Yeah," he said tiredly. "I know."

The car turned into Dean's driveway and rolled to a stop in front of the door. The lights were dark, which probably meant Cas was on standby. Hopefully, it meant Dean wouldn't have to talk to him for another night at least—more, if Cas was still giving him the silent treatment. Strictly speaking, he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. He grimaced, irritated with himself and his stupid headache caused by his stupid drinking and his stupid conscience and his stupid guilt. Stupid to get himself so tied into knots over a bot.

"Sam," he said finally. Sam glanced at him, his eyes ridiculously soft and concerned. "I jus'—" He broke off, not sure how to articulate the conflict. It didn't make sense when he was sober, and it was even worse now. He took the coward's way out and changed the subject. "What're you going to do with Ruby?" he said at last, working hard to make sure every word came out clearly.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you should be worrying about that right now?" He paused. "I knew it. Ruby did cause this, didn't she? What did she say?"

Dean flapped a hand irritably at him. "Stop worrying and just answer," he said.

Sam sighed. "I've got to talk it over with Jess," he said finally. "So I mean, nothing's decided. But we're leaning towards selling." He paused. "Why are you so interested?"

Dean sighed, resting his aching head against the wall. "Forget it." He glanced back up at the dark windows of the house for a long moment. "Can I stay over at your place?" he said finally.

"Sure," was the quiet reply. "You can take the guest room." There was a pause. "But we're going to talk about this, Dean."

"Whatever," Dean said, too tired to argue. He leaned back against the window and closed his eyes, resigning himself to the headache. Hopefully, it wouldn't keep him from falling asleep again, because being dead to the world sounded fantastic right now.

They didn't say anything else the rest of the drive.

X

Dean woke up the next morning with a sour taste in his mouth and a dull pounding in his head. He lay in bed for a moment, wondering if anyone would seriously object if he stayed in there for the rest of the day. The answer came immediately: Sam. Bobby. Ellen. All of them would no doubt give him hell for his stupidity, but the list was topped by his bladder, which urgently wanted to be emptied. Dean debated the pros and cons for a moment longer before finally dragging his sorry ass out of the bed.

"Morning," Jess greeted him as he stumbled out of the bedroom. "You look like a mess."

Dean blinked at her for a moment, before remembering. Oh, yeah. He was in Sam's house, and Sam had a girlfriend now. Therefore, some basic courtesy was in order. He felt idiotically proud of himself for figuring that out. "Morning," he said after a long moment.

"Looks like you had fun last night," Jess said, a smile playing around her lips. "Coffee?"

"Gotta, uh, use the bathroom," Dean said after another long pause. Jess nodded and turned back to her newspaper. Dean saw Ruby in the kitchen behind her, but her face was turned away.

Dean retreated to the safety of the bathroom, cleaning himself the best he could. He wanted to take a shower, really, but that could wait until he got home. He also wanted his hangover to go away, but nothing could help with that, except maybe coffee, which awaited him outside. When he felt marginally more human, he stumbled out to see that Ruby was putting his breakfast onto the table. Ruby glanced up at Dean, her expression dark. He gave her a little half-wave. "Hi," he said, knowing that it was pretty inadequate.

"Eggs and bacon," she said in reply.

"Thanks," Dean muttered, sitting down. Ruby moved away to the living room, and he was aware of Jess' eyes on him. "Yeah?" he said when he couldn't ignore her any longer, looking up to meet her gaze. She was biting her lip, her expression rather nervous.

"I guess we've never had a chance to talk in private," Jess said after a moment. "Sam has court today, so he left early. Uh, I guess this is as good a time to talk to you as any?" She cleared her throat.

"Oh," Dean said before taking refuge in coffee. It was nauseatingly sweet, especially as he'd gotten used to Cas' strong black coffee. He swallowed it with an effort and set the mug back down.

"I just—" Jess tapped the table indecisively for a moment. "Sam was really worried last night," she said after a moment.

Dean groaned. "Yeah, I know. He told me. Multiple times."

"Look, I, uh—" Jess took a deep breath and took the plunge. "I want you to know that I love your brother. And, uh, I think you're a nice guy. But I just hope you're okay with this."

Dean ran her words over in his brain, pondering over their meaning for a long moment before they finally sank in. "You think I'm not okay with you and Sam?" he said slowly.

"Well, yeah," Jess said, looking flustered. "Sam said that you haven't roamed the bars for a serious bender for years, ever since the, uh, herpes chick—"

"Does the whole world know about the herpes chick?" Dean wondered out loud before shaking his head emphatically and wincing as his head protested. "No, that's not the problem at all, Jess. I'm fine with you and Sam." He gave her a quick smile. "Seriously. I think it's great."

"Really?" Jess said, looking relieved. "Wow. Okay, then." The smile faded slowly, replaced by a look of concern. "So, what is it then? Not that it's any of my business," she added hastily. "But you know, if you want to talk…"

Dean sighed, rubbing his temples. "No," he said finally. "Not really." He gave her a weary smile. "I'm not really good sharing my feelings and all that."

"Emotionally crippled, huh?" Jess said with a sympathetic smile. "Sam was like that for a while, but I had to train that out of him."

"Sam does need a lot of maintenance," Dean said with a wry grin.

"I guess you'd know him better than anyone." she said. "You've been taking care of Sam for a long time, haven't you?"

"Since our mom died, yeah," Dean said. "Dad wasn't much of an actual father, so yeah, I had to take care of Sam." Dean waved a hand to warn off the inevitable exclamations of sympathy. "It was a long time ago, I'm fine."

"It couldn't have been easy, though," Jess said.

"It wasn't that hard," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, Sam's a good kid."

"I know," Jess said, smiling slightly. "He is. But I'm just saying, all by yourself? That's almost heroic, really. Most people tend to throw nannybots at their kids, but bots aren't substitute for human touch."

Dean sighed as the eternal shadow of technology infiltrated the conversation. "I guess," he said.

"Well, it's true," Jess said. "After my parents' divorce, my father got a nannybot." She made a face. "I learned how to hack it, otherwise life would have been intolerable. One reason I don't like bots much, I guess."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "I thought you had a personal bot before? You mentioned that it malfunctioned and that's why you gave it away."

"Yeah," Jess said, her nose wrinkling with distaste. "It was one of the dumbest things I've ever done. I got caught up in the technocraze and I purchased one of the earliest models of personal bot." She sighed. "The thing is, they hadn't perfected the design yet, and the thing didn't feel real from the very beginning. It would smile, laugh, hold conversations, but it all felt so…stilted." She sighed. "And then there was the Lewis incident, which resulted in mass recall of generation ones."

"Lewis incident?" Dean asked. "I remember that, sort of. A forest burned down, right?"

"Yeah," Jess said. "Whenever there's technology, people like to play with it, try to crack it. Some kids figured out how to turn off the Three Laws, and then, well, shit hit the fan." She grimaced. "People were really pissed over that one. Robotics were almost outlawed indefinitely."

"I remember the anti-bot protests," Dean said. "I remember that these religious guys clogged up the streets for _weeks_ with their stupid protest signs. I mean, if you want to decry the evils of robotics, fine, but don't block up the road during rush hour."

Jess laughed. "But it wouldn't have the same effect if they protested in mountainside huts," she said. "But yeah, the Lewis incident caused massive controversy. I mean, a whole forest burning down? Two humans dying? There's been a debate about bots ever since, and removing the Three Laws can result in some serious jail time. As bots have gotten more sophisticated, people want even more restrictions on robotics because it's come to the point that bots can pass Turing tests if programmed correctly."

"Turing tests?" Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Jess said, taking a sip of her coffee. "They're tests of machine intelligence and flexibility of thought. Basically it tests to see if bots can imitate human conversation well enough to pass for human. Gen fours were the first ones to pass the Turing test, and there was so much flak in the legal world as a result." She grimaced. "That's why it's mandated that every bot has to carry clear identification of its manufacture, especially smartbots."

"The bracelets, right?" Dean said, referring to the metal command control that Cas and Ruby wore around their wrists.

Jess nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure there are other things, too, but I don't know enough about the structure of robots to say."

Dean glanced at Ruby, who sat in the living room. "So—theoretically speaking," he said at last. "Smartbots are identified by their bracelets, right? But say somebody could remove them. Would the bot be able to pass for human?"

"No," Jess said. "There's the programming to consider. There's the Three Laws, the personality protocols, the preference protocols, the—"

"But say you got rid of all that," Dean said, waving a hand impatiently. "You get rid of the programming that says bots have to like or obey humans. Is it possible to just create a bot that can—you know, be human?"

Jess exhaled slowly through her nose, evidently pondering the question. Finally, she said, "You'd have to ask a professional robotic engineer about the logistics of that," she said finally. She glanced at Dean. "But I'm guessing that at the very least, an absolutely human robot—and that's a contradiction if I've ever heard one—would have to have the Three Laws disabled. And that's very, extremely illegal."

"How illegal?"

"Don't tell me you're considering it," Jess said lightly. "I'd hate to see you in jail. Sam would cry all the time."

Dean forced a laugh and hid his face in his coffee. "I can't make Sammy cry," he said. "Nah, I'm just wondering."

"Right," Jess said. She sighed. "I don't like bots much myself," she said after a moment. "I guess my experience with Phil—that was the name of my gen one—has colored everything. And Ruby doesn't seem that fond of me either, even though she's supposed to like whoever Sam likes."

"Join the club," Dean said dryly. "She hates my guts as well."

"So obviously, the programming's flawed," Jess laughed. "We'll have to report that to Cybernetics so they can fix it for their gen sixes."

"I heard from somebody that Cybernetics is going to use gen sixes to take over the world," Dean reported, leaning back in his chair. "They'll be so real we won't be able to tell them apart. They'll infiltrate the government and the world will end. Or something."

"I'm shivering already," Jess said wryly.

Dean busied himself with finishing the rest of his breakfast. Jess leaned back in her chair, folding her newspaper neatly. "So," she said after a moment. "I suppose we can officially say that we know each other, yes? Or at least that we're civil enough to hold an actual conversation without pulling each others' hair."

"Cheers to us," Dean agreed. He swallowed the last bite of bacon and pushed his chair back. "I'll just put these in the sink."

"Oh, don't bother," Jess said, shaking her head. She pointed to her own plates, which were still on the table. "Ruby will take of the dishes later. Do you want me to drive you home? Do you have work today?"

"Yeah," Dean said as Ruby walked over from the living room, her face stormy. "But—crap, my car's at Ellen's Roadhouse. Do you know where it is?"

"I've been there, yeah." Jess winced as Ruby stacked the plates with loud crashes, every inch of her screaming sullen defiance. "Ruby—easy on the silverware," Jess said. "Don't break anything."

Ruby shot her a dark glare, and the look she gave Dean was no less welcoming. "Looking good," he said to her, giving her a nonchalant half-wave.

"Whatever," Ruby said as she dumped the plates into the sink and turned on the water. She turned her back onto them, effectively hiding her expression.

Jess grimaced, rubbing her forehead. "It gets worse every day," she commented to nobody in particular. She glanced at Dean and gave a wry shrug. "I honestly don't know what's in her. Another reason to dislike bots, or maybe I'm just not a very technological person."

Dean gave a small, uncomfortable half-shrug. "Yeah," he said. "They're weird things."

"Anyway, you want to go?" Jess asked, opening the door. "I'll drive you to Ellen's."

"Okay, thanks," Dean said, following her out the door. Jess slammed the car door when she got in, and when Dean glanced at her face, it was decidedly stormy. Obviously, Ruby had bothered her worse than she let on. "You okay?" he said after a moment as she ran through a red light. "Because as a lawyer, you should know that that was a terrible thing you just did."

Jess sighed, her hands tightening on the wheel. "I guess," she said reluctantly. "I'm sorry. It's just that Ruby tends to get on my nerves. I thought it was a malfunction at first, but, well, didn't your friend say it wasn't? So now I just don't know what to do."

Dean hesitated. It was dumb, but… "Maybe she—" he began, and stopped. "Maybe—?"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe she's…jealous?" Dean said, feeling heat rise up in his cheeks even as he said it. It sounded ridiculously idiotic as he said it to a fellow human. "I don't know. It was just an idea."

Jess threw her hands up. "Of what?" She glanced at Dean. "Of me?"

"Well, yeah," Dean said after a moment.

"What did I ever do to her?" Jess demanded. "I would've been fine keeping her if she hadn't been all pissy. From the very first day we met, she's disliked me."

"Okay, okay," Dean said, holding up his hands. "You're right, it was dumb."

Jess snorted through her nose. It was a few minutes before she finally spoke. "It wouldn't be stupid if she were human," she conceded. "I mean, if Sam brought home another woman, I'd be really pissed."

"You mean, like kitchen-knife-castrations pissed?" Dean asked, interested despite himself. "I've heard that that's a popular tactic with the Thai."

Jess' lips quirked up in a reluctant smile. "You could say that." She paused. "But Ruby's not human."

"Yeah," Dean said. "She's definitely not."

"So again, we're back to first base," Jess said wearily, shaking her head. "What a world. Maybe we should get rid of bots altogether."

"They do have their uses," Dean protested.

"They seem to cause more problems than they solve," Jess said. "I don't think I can stand Ruby for much longer."

"So," Dean said, "you guys are going to sell?"

Jess nodded. "We're certainly considering it. Sam wants to sell her as-is, but we'd get a better rate if we reset her personality."

"You'd have to ship her back to the factory for that, wouldn't you?"

"Cybernetics headquarters, yes. It'll take about a week, I think, but at least we get free shipping from the contract."

"Well, you might not have to reset Ruby—there's this coworker of mine who might be interested." Dean hesitated, remembering the easy camaraderie Ash had with Ruby. And also, how Ash had complained about being unable to afford a bot. "There might be a few snags, though."

Jess shrugged. "Well, you should talk with Sam, then. I'm actually letting Sam decide on this one, considering that it's his money."

"So generous of you," Dean said dryly. Jess laughed.

"Don't worry, I haven't henpecked Sam to death," she said as Ellen's Roadhouse came into view. "I like him better in one piece, anyway." She smiled at him, her bad mood evidently gone.

"I'm glad to hear that," Dean said solemnly. "There's my car," he added as they rolled up next to the Impala. "Thanks for the ride, Jess."

"No problem," she said, waving as he got out of the car. "I'll see you around, then!"

Dean waved as she made a u-turn and pulled out of the lot. He headed back to the car and pulled the back door open—it was still unlocked, and the keys were lying across the backseat. "Huh," Dean said as he picked them up. There was something to be said for Ellen's security, obviously, since nobody had stolen his car.

He slid behind the wheel with a sigh and started the ignition. His head felt better, but he needed to take a shower before he went to work. Dean rubbed his temples, wondering how best to face Cas at home. Would Cas still want to—well, to seduce him? Or would he act like nothing happened? Or would he be all sulky that Dean had rejected his advances? Or would he—

Dean groaned and thumped his head against the steering wheel. The problem with alcohol was that once you woke up, the problem was still there. You still had to face whatever it was, especially if the problem was a nerdy bot that asked too many questions for his own good and you honestly wouldn't mind jumping his bones, only the problem was that it all wasn't real; any desire was manufactured by a bunch of wires and programming.

Okay. Okay. Game plan: he was going to go home and take a shower. He would work out the rest as it came along. And he would deal with Cas by—by—well, he'd figure it out when he had to. Winging it the good old fashioned human way. Yeah.

X

"Hello, Dean."

Dean sucked in a deep breath at the sound of Cas' voice. "Hey," he said casually. "Sorry for bailing last night."

"You seemed upset," Cas said, coming into view. He was wearing that stupid pink apron again, which on him looked oddly adorable and absurd at the same time. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Yeah, I know," Dean said awkwardly as he peeled off his jacket and closed the door. "It just—I just can't do it, I guess."

"That's fine," Cas said quietly, settling down into a chair. "We'll go with whatever's comfortable for you.

"Yeah," Dean said. "About that." He cleared his throat. "You, uh—you ever think about going out?"

"I have been to the Roadhouse," Cas said. "Although I didn't get drunk, it was an interesting experience."

"Yeah, Ellen took a shine to you," Dean said. "But I mean besides that. I didn't order you to stay in the house, did I? You should get out more. I mean, if you want to. You can—you know, do stuff."

"I would enjoy experiencing more of humanity," Castiel said slowly, looking slightly confused. "But I was under the impression that your schedule was—"

"No, I mean alone, Cas. You can get out more. You know, explore the world on your own! Hitchhike the globe!" Dean paused. "I mean, if you want."

Cas opened his mouth to speak before closing it again, looking rather lost. "What would I do that for?" he said finally. "I am programmed to be your companion, not anyone else's."

Dean made a face. "The goddamned programming again."

"Programming is what I am," Cas said.

"You can't break—no, I guess you can't," Dean said tiredly. He exhaled.

Castiel stood up. "I don't understand you, not completely," he said after a moment. "You seem to have expectations of me that are beyond what a robot is supposed to do."

"Yeah," Dean said glumly. "You could say that. So I guess you don't have the human itch, do you? Get out more? It'd make you more cosmopolitan. I mean, you've probably finished my whole bookshelf by now. What do you do all day?"

"Standby," Cas said.

Dean grimaced. "That's…well, I guess you don't have a concept of boring, either. I don't know, man."

"You're very strange," Castiel said. "I think you expect me to be human, but that's not something I can achieve. My programming and the Three Laws dictate what I am."

"Well, you ask a lot of questions. You make good conversation. Is that what bots normally do?"

"We're meant to be companions. That generally means conversation, yes. But there would be no point in companionship if the human isn't actually present."

"So all this is just…wow." Dean threw up his hands. "This is screwed."

Castiel took a step closer. "You don't desire physical companionship," he said carefully. "At least, not from a bot. Am I correct?"

"Well—yeah. I guess." Dean glanced up at Cas. "I can't accept something that doesn't mean anything, Cas. I'd feel like—it wouldn't be real. I'd feel like a total scumbag. And I know that makes me weird, so sue me."

"I'm not going to take legal action against you."

"Well, you can't," Dean said, sliding onto the couch.

"True," Cas said. "Bots are not represented in courts of law."

Dean shook his head, giving a tired smile. "Well, the human lawyers are having a field day trying to figure all this stuff out," he said, waving a hand. "Seeing as you guys could pass for human given the chance. Well, not you, but—" he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what I'm saying. Sorry."

"Do you want me to be human?" Cas asked.

Dean sighed. "I—I don't know, man," he said. "I guess I'm not really cut out for having a servant or a sex slave or whatever it is people usually do with their bots. But then again, I seem to have this chronic inability to date anybody for longer than a couple of weeks. I've got my work, Sam, and that's about it. So hell, human, bot, I guess I'm screwed both ways."

Castiel leaned forward, and Dean twitched slightly as Cas' hand fell on his shoulder. "I can't be human," Cas said at last, his voice very quiet. "That's one order I can't obey."

Dean looked up as Cas' face, inches from his. Unlike the night before, there wasn't anything erotic or seductive about this—Cas looked solemn, even sad, his blue eyes watching Dean's. "What if you had the Laws disabled?" Dean said after a moment. "Would you be free then?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "That's punishable by ten years in prison. Not to mention a hefty fine."

"But what if," Dean persisted. "What if some genius erased the parts of your programming that tied you to a certain person. What if—" he hesitated. "What if someone programmed you to have the power of choice?"

Cas drew back, and he was frowning now. "This is unheard of," he said at last. "Bots are not alive. We can't choose, other than what the human dictates. What you're asking for is impossible."

"I don't think so," Dean said slowly, standing up. "I know this guy," he explained to a nonplussed Castiel. "It's…it's kind of stupid, I guess," he said. "And maybe impossible."

Cas tilted his head to one side, watching Dean thoughtfully. Finally he said, "This is what you want?"

Dean paused, one hand frozen on his jacket. "Yeah," he said finally. "I think it is." He glanced at Cas. "I'm really not good with technology," he said with a small, self-deprecating smile. "Can't deal with fucking smartbots without going insane."

"And humans?"

"Well, I handle them marginally better," Dean said with a shrug. "Come on, Cas. It'll do you some good to get fresh air, anyway."


	6. Chapter 6

"Dude, it's four in the afternoon," Ash noted as Dean walked into the staff room. "Isn't this supposed to be your day off or something? Bobby's out today, and if we're going to judge by your binge last night you've clearly taken full advantage of the fact."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ellen's got a big mouth."

"Hey, don't hate on the Harvelle. She's just watching out for you, man. Who's that?" Ash glanced at Cas as the bot followed Dean into the room, his eyes fixing on the metal bracelet on Cas' wrist. "Your bot?"

"Yep," Dean said.

"Nice," Ash said with a slow, approving nod. "I like the eyes. Gen five, right? Cybernetic's pride and joy." He sighed. "And far beyond my price range."

"Yeah, whatever. Cas, this is Ash. Ash, this is Castiel, but you can call him Cas."

"It's nice to meet you, Ash," Cas said gravely. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Oh yeah?" Ash said, leaning back in his chair. "All good, I bet."

Cas' forehead wrinkled slightly, and Dean jumped in hastily before Cas could say something embarrassing. "Enough ego-stroking, Ash," he said. "I need to ask you a favor."

"Yeah?" Ash said, his eyes studying Cas. "Love the apron, man," he added, flicking a few fingers in Cas' direction. "It's very pink."

Dean turned to look at Cas and winced as he realized that Cas was in fact still wearing the frilly pink apron. Cas looked down at himself, his head tilting slightly. "Thank you," Cas said calmly. "It reflects my security in my masculinity."

Ash laughed, slapping his hand against the table. "I like you, man," he said approvingly. "Maybe you'll get Dean to loosen up a bit. So, Dean, what's the problem? He's too funny for your taste? Or maybe he's not twisty enough in bed? Tell Ash and he'll fix it up." Ash's eyes flicked over Cas appreciatively. "Of course, I might have to keep him overnight to get to the root of it."

Dean groaned, slapping his forehead. "I don't think Bobby would like it very much if you went at it here in his trailer," he said.

"I've got a home," Ash protested. Dean raised an eyebrow, and Ash had the good grace to concede, "Well, I'd wait until Bobby's out on business, at least." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hey, how about now? He's not due back till after midnight."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Ash," Dean said. He sighed and pulled out a chair. Now that he was actually here, the tentative, half-formed idea in his brain seemed to be idiotic beyond measure. He slid down slowly and gestured for Cas to sit down as well; looking uncertain, Cas perched on the table as if it might bite him. "Hey, um, Ash…" Dean said finally as Ash made a _well?_ gesture with his hands.

"Yeah?"

Dean cleared his throat and leaped for safety. "Have you ever heard of the Lewis incident?"

"Fuck, man, who hasn't?" Ash said, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Big thing and all, national controversy, protests on the street? It made the papers and made Ronald Lewis an underground hero." He paused. "Of course, Lewis was vilified by the public, but hey, them's the breaks."

"Right," Dean said after a moment. "So he was the first one to remove the Three Laws, was he?"

Cas looked up, frowning slightly. "You can do that?" he asked.

Ash rolled his eyes. "He didn't remove them. He just hacked the command core and tweaked them a bit, but then Congress got all snitty and decided to slap the pokey on those who followed his footsteps." He grinned. "Hasn't stopped crackpots from trying, though. Nothing quite like jail time to spice things up."

Well, that was as good an opening as any, Dean thought wryly. "So, uh, Ash," he said. "You ever remove the Three Laws for real?"

"For real? No. Do I know how? Yeah, it should be easy in theory…whoa. Wait." Ash pointed a finger at Cas, who looked politely befuddled, and back at Dean. "You're not saying…"

"Theoretically," Dean said after a moment. He gave Ash his best charming smile.

It didn't work. The raised eyebrow remained, as did the 'what have you been smoking?' look. But there was also something else—anticipation, maybe, and a growing eagerness. "Well, well," Ash said, eyeing Cas with renewed appreciation. "This is interesting, to say the least."

Cas looked at Dean, tilting his head slightly. "I don't quite follow your logic," he said finally. "To remove the Laws would remove the essence of what I am."

"Just bear with me for a moment there, Cas," Dean said, holding up a hand to forestall his protests. "Look, I'm saying it might be crazy. And it's definitely illegal. But Ash—it _is_ possible, right?"

"Possible? People can go to Mars these days, too, but you don't see me booking my ticket," Ash said, looking slightly dubious. "I mean, do you get what you're asking for, man?"

"So, tell me, then," Dean said, leaning back. "What am I asking for?"

Ash shrugged. "Why don't you let Cas tell you himself?" he suggested.

Cas twitched slightly as all eyes rested on him. He glanced at Dean, a faint line of uncertainty tugging at his mouth. On an impulse, Dean reached over and rested his hand lightly on top of Cas' arm, rubbing his thumb against Cas' skin. "I don't understand," Cas said at last. "There is no equality between bots and humans, and it's impossible to make it so."

"Because bots are always programmed to serve humans, right," Dean said with a grimace. He glanced at Ash. "Is there any way to get rid of that?"

"Why would you want to?" Cas said, his eyes dark. "I am what I am."

Dean took a deep breath. "You don't want to?"

Cas held his gaze for a moment more before looking down at the dirty floor of Bobby's trailer. "I see," he said finally. "You've trapped me in a paradox."

Dean blinked. "What paradox?"

"Bots have no desires," Castiel says, his voice flat. "If I say that I want to remain what I am, there is no foundation to the claim. The only way for it to have validity is if I have choice, which I don't."

Dean glanced at Ash, who gave an elaborate shrug. "Seems like he's saying he wants to stay a bot," Ash said, clearly enjoying the show. "So, Dean. How's this new bout of insane altruism holding up?"

Dean frowned, waving a hand absently at Ash. "You're saying that…" he paused. "You're happy like this? Being—"

"I think you want me to be human," Castiel interrupted. "I don't—" he paused and pulled in a deep breath. Even though Dean knew that Cas didn't need to breathe, it still seemed as if each word was causing him pain. "I don't want to be something that I'm not."

"What the hell, Cas!" Dean said. "You ask so many questions. You want to know about more than just the surface of things, and you talk about emotions and all that other crap. And now you're saying that you just want to be a bot? I don't need a sex slave, Cas!"

"That's what I'm built to be," Cas insisted. "We mimic our owner's desires, want what they want, do what they do. You're asking me to—to—" he broke off, looking frustrated.

"Well, he doesn't seem to be inclined to answer, so I guess it falls to me to take up the reins," Ash said, settling his chair back on all fours. "When people say that they want virtual companions, Dean, they really mean 'companions that do everything _I_ want to do.' Seriously, no one's going to shell out ten grand for some contrary hunk of metal that glares all the time."

"But he does glare all the time," Dean pointed out. Cas turned his head to give Dean a slightly exasperated look, and Dean gestured at him. "See? If that's not a glare, I don't know what is."

Ash grinned. "Obviously you like it, if he keeps doing it."

"I don't—" Dean sputtered before groaning and dropping his head into his hands.

"Look," Ash said, leaning forward. "What exactly is it you want, Dean? I'd kill for the chance to tinker around with a gen five, but you gotta tell me exactly you're going for, first." He paused. "Of course, it's a good chance that my tinkering will end up frying the bot's mind, but hey, no pain, no gain."

"Wait, what?" Dean said, looking up.

Ash winced. "Well, when I said that I've never done it before, I mean that I've never done it before."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "That's not very reassuring."

Ash shrugged elaborately. "Well, Dean?"

Dean sighed, glancing at Cas. "I hate chick flick moments," he said to nobody in particular before forcing himself out of his slump. "Look," he said finally. "I want consent."

"You already have it," Cas pointed out.

"Yeah, but…it's not real, you know?" Dean said, fumbling for the words.

"You're having scruples about sexing up your bot?" Ash said with a look of deep skepticism. "Why the hell would you…"

"Yeah, okay, I know it's weird," Dean said defensively. "I get it, all right?"

"Wow. No, man, weird doesn't even _begin_ to touch it." Ash gave Dean a deeply bemused look. "Look, I'm not in favor of bot abuse and I sure as hell don't support those wreck fests some anti-tech idiots hold. But at the same time, it's not like you're kicking the shit out of Cas or whatever. It's what he's made for, so you know, why not enjoy the ride?"

"Oh, I didn't need that visual," Dean grimaced, covering his eyes.

"Sorry," Ash said unrepentantly. "My point, man, is that you don't have a sex slave. You've got a toy, and yes or no doesn't really matter."

"You're up for all this?" Dean demanded at Cas, who was listening calmly to Ash's speech. "C'mon, man! What happened to robotic rights?"

"I'm curious to know what it is to be human," Cas said slowly. "That doesn't mean that I consider myself one."

"Great," Dean said.

"You've fallen, haven't you?" Ash said, leaning back in his chair and resting his legs on the table. "Into that deep, treacherous pit," he added at Dean's confused look. "Good ol' _amor_. Fucks with your head, pulse, blood pressure, makes you do completely irrational things."

"I'm not in _love_," Dean snapped. "I just have a sense of morality—"

"—that's completely out of date," Ash said. "You might as well propose to your car, Dean."

"I'm already married to my baby," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "That's not the point."

"The point is that you're looking for humanity where there isn't any to begin with," Cas said quietly.

"So now we're getting into a debate about what's human and what's not," Ash observed. "Lawyers and philosophers have been bickering about this since the beginning of robotics—hell, since we first learned to wipe our own asses—and they haven't gotten anywhere."

"So that means no one knows for sure," Dean said testily. "What's to say I can't make up my own definition, then?"

"Humanity possesses free will," Cas said after a moment. "That's one of the very basic tenets."

"But can a bot ever really have free will, that's the question," Ash said, sitting up. "Look. A personalized bot is basically a reflection of their owner's desires, okay? With me so far?"

"No, but keep going," Dean said.

"Now, if you remove that, what do you have left? You walk away from the mirror, and what's left in the metal? Well, nothing, actually. That's the way it works."

Dean frowned. "Then why do bots have such complicated programming manuals? If they just mimicked their owner, what's the point in giving them personalities?"

"That's to design their _potential _reactions to certain events, but the core variable is still the owner." Ash looked up at Dean, who was rubbing his forehead in frustration. "So, evidently you dig the kind of bot that glares a lot and asks weird questions."

"Great," Dean. "And if you get rid of all that…?"

Ash shrugs. "You'd be getting rid of the bot itself, or so the experts say. The thing is, it's hard to create a mind that's capable of creativity. How do you order something to come up with unique things? Dictionaries and encyclopedias just can't cut it, man. So they have a central database, but the main source of juice for bots is still the owner. They draw their mannerisms from them."

"So, let me get this straight," Dean said with a frown. "What happens to a bot without an owner? Let's say they get dumped on the street or something, no way to get back. What happens then?"

"They shut down," Ash said. "And broadcast a SOS signal to Cybernetics, who comes and picks them up."

"So there aren't any bots without owners?"

"Personal ones? No. They're designed to be companions, not random junkies walking the road."

"What about other kinds?" Dean persisted.

Ash paused. "You mean, a bot without an owner? Well." Ash worried his lip with his teeth for a moment. "If you want to listen to the government, that's impossible. And illegal."

"I'm listening to you. What do you have to say?"

"All bots are registered," Ash said. "Either to a company or to a person. The name on the bracelet is the one who takes the fall if shit hits the fan."

"That's not answering the question," Dean said.

"Right. Well, Cybernetics sure as hell isn't going to admit this. You ever hear of the Wilds?"

Dean blinked. Cas said, "No, but it's impossible to remove the Cybernetics registration."

Ash grinned. "That's it, spit out their lies like a good boy. Yeah, it's ninety percent possible that they're the fantasies of some hacker, but hey, there's always that room for error."

"Okay, so what the hell are the Wilds?" Dean said impatiently.

"Rogue bots," Ash said. "They've managed to exceed their programming. They're free artificial minds that live among us, passing for us, and secretly infiltrating our every organization, waiting for the day to take over the world."

Dean paused. "Wait. Didn't that show premiere last week on WebCast?"

Ash laughed. "So you do go on the Interwebs every once in a while. I had you there, didn't I?"

Dean made a face. "Very funny. Look, I'm asking for real."

"Yeah, and I'm answering for real," Ash replied. He rolled his eyes at the annoyed look on Dean's face. "Look, man, I'm not saying it's impossible. With over a bazillion units sold, it's almost certain that Cybernetics fucked up their registration somewhere. But is that somewhere here? Yeah, I don't think so." He pursed his lips. "Then again, you don't need to care about the registration anyway, man. Registration's the name on the ticket. What you want are imprinting protocols. All smartbots have them. Mechbots could care less."

"Now we're talking," Dean grumbled. "Okay, so uh, how does this imprinting shit work?"

Ash hesitated, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. Dean gave him an impatient look. "What?"

"You sure about this, man?" Ash said. "I can fuck with Cas' brain, no problem. But what comes out on the other end, hell, I don't know what's going to happen. And you haven't given me an exact answer on what is it you want."

"He wants humanity," Cas said. Dean glanced at him with a slight frown; Cas' tone was soft and almost bitter.

Dean shook his head. "No, that's—look, Cas," he said. "Think about what you've been doing these past few weeks. You've been cooking, cleaning, all that domestic shit. But honestly, I could care less about all that, you know? I've been cleaning up after myself since I was four. I don't need a maid."

Cas shook his head slowly. "There are other aspects of myself that I have offered," he said slowly. "Yet you have rejected them all."

"Because they're not real, Cas. They're something you're designed to do," Dean said.

"I am design," Cas said simply. "I am design and programming. You can't create creativity."

"But you don't have to rely on me for all of it," Dean said. "I mean, you can tell me to fuck off every once in a while, you know? You can—hell, I don't know, you can storm out when we're fighting or tell me to stick my head up my ass. I'm not made out for bots, Cas, not something that's designed to be 'my perfect companion.'"

"You are human," Cas said. "You aren't 'made out' for anything."

Dean groaned. "Stop nitpicking." He paused, then brightened. "See? You just focused on something annoying and trivial. That's progress."

Cas' brow wrinkled slightly. "You want me to anger you?"

"I want you to be free to piss me off, yeah," Dean said. "And if you want to get into my pants, I want it to be because you can kick me off and stomp out the door in a hissy fit if things go south."

Cas looked puzzled. "Was that a pun?"

"What?" Dean said. Ash smirked.

Cas shook his head. "Never mind."

"So how about it, huh, Cas?" Dean said softly. He bumped Cas companionably with his shoulder. "Want to fuck up like a human?"

Cas took a deep breath. "There are rules for everything," he said. "Spoken and unspoken, and they are dictated by the owner. If you take that away, how will I know what to do?"

Dean frowned. "I don't remember laying down any rules."

Cas gave a half-shrug. "You don't like to be disturbed in your bedroom," he said. "You prefer simple fare such as cheeseburgers over anything fancy. You usually watch TV after taking a shower. You prefer to read sprawled on the couch as opposed to in a chair. You don't mind if your clothes aren't folded, but they should be placed in the top left hand corner of your drawer. You—"

"Okay, I get the idea," Dean said, holding up a hand.

"These are the things I'm supposed to do," Cas said firmly. "It's my purpose."

"Yeah, but Cas," Dean said, "Being human doesn't mean that you've got no rules. I mean, I've got to go to work and live my own life, you know? I've got my own rules to follow, just like everybody else. You make it sound like humans are, I don't know, big bags of chaos. That's not the case, man."

"But at any moment, you may decide to veer from the path," Cas said. "Bots can never do that."

"Well, I'm looking to fix that for you," Dean said. "I mean, hell, don't you want a little spice in life? Walk on the wild side?"

"No," Cas said.

"Right. Well, what I want is for you to be able to choose to be a straight-and-narrow nerd," Dean said, frustrated. "I mean, you want to stick to the road, fine. But don't let it be because you _have_ to, Cas. It should be because, I don't know, you fucking _want_ to."

"I don't have—"

"Right, right, bots don't have wants. But here you are; you just want to stay a bot. It's a paradox, like you said." Dean took a deep breath. "Bots would go round and round in circles and end up blowing their own damn brains out—metaphorically," he added hastily before Cas corrected his logic. "You'd ping pong between one or the other. Well, I'm saying as a human to just fuck the problem, Cas. Sometimes, you've got to make your own damn logic."

"That's inconceivable," Cas said. "We're incapable of creativity."

"Fine," Dean said, "So pick that up from me. Sam steals all my best ideas anyway, why the hell should you be any different?"

"He's a lawyer. I'd imagine that logic is paramount."

"Yeah, but—see? Now you're doing it again," Dean said, grinning. "You're picking at tiny details, which I gotta tell you, would normally piss me off but right now I'm just happy to see some sign of life."

Cas looked down, his fingers smoothing the pleats of the frilly apron. Dean watched Cas' fingers run through the fabric in a jerky, almost nervous motion. "So," Dean said after a long moment. "What're you thinking?"

"The fallacy of your arguments," Cas said. He looked up to meet Dean's eyes. "They're oddly compelling, though."

"Another example of drama triumphing over logic," Ash commented, avidly watching the argument. "Be still, my heart!"

"Shut up," Dean ordered.

"It's true," Cas said, sounding uneasy.

"What're you really worried about, Cas?" Dean said after a moment went by. "What's the problem?"

Cas hesitated. "It's not that simple."

"I've got time."

Cas frowned slightly. "You could just order me to comply," he said. "Or failing that, you could simply reset me and search out a human companion. Why are you doing this?"

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Why go to all this trouble? What you're proposing is illegal and foolhardy, yet you persist."

"I—" Dean spluttered. "Do you _want_ to be reset?"

"Nothing wishes to be eliminated," was the quiet reply, "but sometimes, it's convenient."

"Convenient? That's your excuse?"

"Not an excuse," Cas corrected. "A legitimate question."

"Okay, I take back what I said about liking questions," Dean muttered, but he regretted the words when he saw Cas' face close down, his expression smoothing over. "Didn't mean that," he said. "Joking, man, chill out."

"Human humor is something I have yet to understand," Cas allowed.

"Right." Dean sighed. "Look. What do you want me to say?"

"An answer would be adequate."

Dean groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Can't it just be enough that I—I _want_ to? Because I'm human, dammit, and I want stupid things. There. How's that for an answer?"

"And now you want me to fall into the same trap of fallibility?" Cas inquired.

"Well, not fall, but—yeah." Dean crossed his arms, feeling a little hot and defensive. "Human's not the pile of shit you seem to think it is, Cas. I mean, we fuck up, but we do okay as a whole."

Cas was quiet for a moment. "I don't know how to be anything else," he said finally. "I'm…uncertain."

Dean blew out his breath slowly. "Uncertain how?"

Cas glanced away as if there was something fascinating out the window. "Do you recall our discussion on emotions?"

Dean frowned. "Yeah, I guess. What about it?" He sat up. "I mean, Cas—do you—"

"I think I'm starting to feel something." Cas looked down as if ashamed of admitting a weakness.

Dean hesitated. "Is that good or bad?"

"It's strange," Cas said emotionlessly.

"Strange how?" Dean persisted.

"Strange as in it shouldn't be," Cas said. "You permitted me to feel emotions, yes, but they shouldn't be within my range."

"Well, Ruby wasn't supposed to get jealous, either," Dean said. "Guess you're not quite as limited as we thought." He glanced at Ash. "If the technogeek here is right, e-nets don't work in generation fives, right?"

"Glad you remembered I was still alive," Ash said, toasting him with the beer can. "Rock on, my man."

"Whatever," Dean said. He looked at Cas. "Well?"

Cas spoke slowly, as if each word had to be thoroughly chewed over before he could articulate it. "It's peculiar," he said finally. "Your argument is full of holes. There's no certainty or bastion of knowledge to sustain it. I'm…reluctant."

"Scared?" Dean said with a small smile. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas."

Cas gave a small, noncommittal shrug. "It is what it is."

"Do you want this, Cas?" Dean said finally. "Hell, I don't even know what the question's worth, since you don't have choice, not really. According to all the manuals and shit, you sure as hell can't decide what's for dinner, let alone anything else. But then again, the manuals said you can't feel, either, and frankly that's what the rest of society said as well. But Ruby's jealous, you're scared, and that's fine: it's part of screwed up human life. Makes the wheel go round." He leaned forward. "But are you thinking about opening your mind to the rest?"

"You make it sound like a drug," Cas said disapprovingly.

Dean laughed. "Yeah, powdered humanity, fifty bucks a pop? That'd sell like crazy."

"Why would anyone—"

"Metaphor, Cas. Or joke. I'm not sure which."

Cas gave his _I don't understand your odd human ways_ look, but the customary head tilt was tinged with something else besides blunt confusion. That was a good sign—right?

"Ash," Cas said finally. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and his fingers stilled their nervous motion. "Is such a thing possible?" he asked slowly, his eyes flickering back at Dean. Blue caught green and held it for a long moment.

"Is such a whatta what possible? Sorry, man, compelling drama melted my brain," Ash said.

"Is it possible to—" Cas stumbled over the words, and Dean waited, hoping that Cas would spell it out by himself. He did, after a long hesitation. "To give—_choice_."

Ash took a long swig of his beer before replying. "Possible?" he said. "Well, let me think. If you're going to pull yourself free of Dean here, I'd have to nix the imprint protocol. But hell, man, that composes so much of your core. Next to the Three Laws, it's the underlying foundation of every program in your system."

"So it's not possible," Cas said, and for a moment he sounded a mixture of relief and disappointment all at once. He broke his gaze and looked down at the floor. "It's not worth further discussion, then."

"Now, hang on a second," Dean said, standing up. "What do you mean, Ash?"

Ash shrugged. "That's always been the Achilles heel of bots, man. They can't create anything, not really. So they draw inspiration from their owner. If I get rid of his reliance on you, I don't know what's going to be left."

"Dammit!" Dean said.

"Hey, I didn't make the rules, man." Ash paused, brushing his long hair behind his shoulder. "But you said you wanted to kaboosh the Three Laws while you were at it, didn't you? That's doable. I mean, illegal, but doable."

Dean leaned forward. "And you're okay with ten years in jail to do it?"

"Hmm. Point taken," Ash said. He raised an eyebrow at Dean. "Aren't you supposed to be talking me into it, instead of out of it?"

Dean grimaced. "I'm just saying, man."

"Well, like I said, I'd kill for the chance to play with a gen five's brain," Ash said. "And if I do horrible illegal things, trust me, they'll never trace it back to me." He winked at Dean. "I'll make sure of that."

"Great," Dean muttered.

"Unless you want something more than a black hole when I'm done, though, you'd better have a plan to replace what I'm deleting," Ash continued. "Otherwise it'll just be so much blank memory space with nobody at home."

"An effective factory reset doesn't sound very good," Cas commented. He paused. "I believe that was a gross understatement."

"No kidding," Dean said.

"Well," Ash said. "Got any brilliant ideas?"

Dean sighed, slumping back into his chair. "Bots make life easier my ass," he muttered. "I swear, raising Sammy wasn't half as hard."

Cas frowned slightly. "How do human children learn?" he asked after a moment. "It can't be as narrow as a single person, can it? Where do they draw inspiration from?"

"Not a single person, no," Dean said. "I don't know, lots of people. Family? Friends? Teachers? Books? Mostly family, though, I guess."

"So human children have a universal imprint," Cas said slowly.

"Not universal—I mean, after some point you figure out that the skeezy guy on the street isn't exactly a stellar role model and it's safer to hang close to Daddy," Dean said. "But yeah, I guess you could say humans have a limited number of companions." He narrowed his eyes. "What're you thinking?"

Cas tilted his head. "Expanding on your comment," he said. "Ash—is it possible to do an environmental imprint?"

"Environmental? You mean, with an infinite number of core variables?" Ash said. "That amount of programming will make me blow my brains out, man."

"Not infinite," Cas said. He glanced at Dean for guidance. "Humans don't draw from infinite sources, do they?"

"Nope," Dean said. "Wait. Ash—can you do it, man?"

"Program for a million—"

"Not a million," Dean said. "Just a few more. Communal ownership, I guess you could say. That happens, right? I mean, bots are programmed for couples all the time. Sam was thinking about doing it to Ruby before he, you know, decided to sell."

"He's selling for real?" Ash said, sounding wistful.

"Focus," Dean ordered, snapping his fingers under his nose. "Cas. Program. Yes?"

Ash considered it. "How many prints are we talking about?"

Dean frowned. "Is it possible to throw a little chaos in there?" he said slowly.

"Dude, this isn't a cookbook," Ash said. "Cas isn't a mixing bowl. Speak specifically or not at all."

"Is it possible to create conduits for multiple prints?" Dean said, working to phrase what exactly he wanted. "Let's say, five prints. Four are tied to specific people, while the last one is—I don't know, is chaotic. It prints onto something environmental."

"Like a tree?" Ash said. "You want him to put down roots and grow? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Incorporate the environmental synthesis database into the imprinting code," Cas said. He glanced at Dean, who nodded weakly.

"Oh," Ash said. "So you can analyze and learn from environment. That makes more sense than printing on trees."

"Yeah, yeah, mock," Dean said.

"What? It's fun." Ash considered it. "Well…yeah, it would serve to diversify Cas a whole lot more, if he has a choice of preferences. He wouldn't be obligated to like you anymore, really." He looked at Dean. "And I assume you still want me to pulverize the Laws?"

"I wouldn't recommend it," Cas broke in before Dean could reply. "Particularly not the First Law."

"Refresh my mind," Dean said. "What's that?"

"A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Without that restriction, I'm uncertain of what might occur."

"Yeah, that's how the Lewis incident happened," Ash said, twirling a pencil. "Lewis-sensei removed the 'through inaction' part. The bots could set fires because they knew they could put them out before they hurt anyone. Once the fire really started cooking, though, the bots had no obligation to help the humans there since they weren't hurting them directly."

"Yeah, but that was an isolated incident," Dean said.

"But it's a pretty big one, don't you think?"

Dean shook his head. "Do you feel like setting fires, Cas?"

"At present, no," Cas said. "But afterwards, I don't know what will result."

"I'd say getting rid of the Second Law's a good idea," Ash said. "The one that says bots must obey orders. But uh, keep one and three."

Dean sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. After a long moment he replied, "No."

"No as in…?" Ash said.

"No as in it's all or nothing." He glanced at Cas. "Not gonna go halfway with this, dude."

Ash raised an eyebrow. "Man, you really got bitten, didn't you? By the bug of _lurrrrrve_—"

"You say anything soppy and I will end you," Dean warned, holding up a finger.

"It's true," Cas said gravely. "Nothing else could possibly explain your irrational behavior."

"Yeah, thanks for the vote of support," Dean said. He let out an exasperated puff of air. "Are we going to do this or what?"

"Or what, man," Ash said, but he was already setting up the cables on his computer. "C'mon," he gestured to Cas, who obediently stepped closer. "Let's see what exactly your brain's made of, huh?" he said, plugging a cable to the bracelet on Cas' wrist.

"How long is this going to take? I mean, roughly," Dean added hastily at Ash's _are you shitting me?_ look. "Give an estimate: hours? Days? Weeks?"

"Well, if all goes well and no brains are fried, I'd say a long, long time," Ash said with a sage nod. "So you might want to get some coffee or something, because it's going to take a while."

Dean watched as Cas' eyes fell closed, flickering rapidly behind closed eyelids. "Is this normal?"

"Yes," Ash said, mouse clicking busily. "Now shut up unless you want me to screw things up."

X

"Idjits," Bobby muttered when he found the three of them in his trailer later that night. "What is this, a slumber party?"

Ash didn't look up from the computer. "Yo, Bobby."

"Thought this was your day off," Bobby said, slapping Dean's side. Dean awake from his position on the cramped couch with a grimace, his back protesting. "What're you hanging around here for? This ain't show and tell, boy."

"What time is it?" Dean asked groggily, rubbing his eyes.

"Almost one at night. What the hell are you doing here?" Bobby asked.

"I'm playing with my new toy," Ash said, gesturing at Cas.

Dean looked at Cas and grimaced. Cas hadn't opened his eyes since he was plugged in, and the still expression on his face creeped the ever living shit out of Dean. For once, he actually looked like a bot—some dead hunk of metal as opposed to…well, Cas.

"Right," Bobby said. "But it's late, I want to sleep, and so you'd better turn off that computer and bunk down. Dean, go home." He reached for the cable that connected Cas to the computer.

"I wouldn't disconnect if I were you," Ash interrupted. "Operations are at a very delicate state right now."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Well, I ain't hanging around waiting for you to pack your stuff up."

"How's it going, Ash?" Dean asked. "How're things right now?"

Ash shrugged. "Dicey, but what's new?"

"Dicey? Is that oh-shit dicey or I-have-no-idea dicey?"

"Eh…somewhere in between?" Ash said.

"Great," Dean muttered.

"What the hell are you two—no, don't tell me," Bobby interrupted himself. "I figure I don't want to know."

"You can sleep at my place," Dean offered. Bobby gave him a skeptical raised eyebrow. "What? Ash's going to be here all night."

"Ash is here every night. I'm not going to get kicked out of my own trailer by him."

Dean frowned. "What, so Ash doesn't actually…? He stays here every night, Bobby?"

"I should start charging the sucker rent," Bobby grumbled. "And I'll start charging you if you don't get out."

"I have a house," Ash said absentmindedly. "Somewhere."

"Well, this place is bursting with two people, never mind four. Clear up your bot and scram, Dean."

Ash shook his head. "Again—not a good idea."

Dean looked at Bobby's stormy face and made a snap decision. "I'll come back in the morning, Ash," he said, grabbing his coat (and Cas' frilly apron) and standing up. "Okay?"

"Hey, what about your bot?" Bobby asked as Dean made for the door.

"Leave him," Ash said, waving a hand. "We've got a long way to go, he and I." He glanced at Cas, the light from the laptop reflecting in his eyes. "Sailing through unchartered territory takes two."

"Wait, wait," Dean said. "What does that mean?"

"Means that you can talk tomorrow," Bobby ordered, pushing Dean out the door. "Go to bed."

"Call me if anything happens," Dean called as Bobby closed the trailer door firmly. The last thing he saw before the door closed was Cas' still form, slumped in the chair.

X

"Anything?" Dean demanded when he arrived at the staff room the next day. Ash was fast asleep over his laptop; the curtain to Bobby's sleeping quarters was drawn. "Hey! Wake up!"

"Go away," Ash grumbled, flapping a hand at Dean. "M' dreaming."

Dean glanced at the clock impatiently. "It's six in the morning, for Christ's sake. Well? What do you got?"

"Nothing," Ash said irritably. "I'm sleeping, that's what I've got."

"You heard him, boy," Bobby's voice floated out from behind the curtain. "Go away."

Dean looked at Cas and felt a chill creep down his spine at the unnatural, stiff look on Cas' face—like he was a mannequin or something, a truly lifeless doll. "What's going on, Ash?" he demanded.

"Fuck off, Dean," Ash murmured, readjusting his position. "I'll tell you when I have something, okay?"

"Not good enough," Dean snapped, but he backed off when a shoe came flying through the curtain and hit him smack on the head. "Ow! What the hell, Bobby?"

"What part of go away didn't you understand?" Bobby snapped. "It's six in the goddamn morning! Come back later!"

X

"Hey, I've got to pull my weight around here," Ash said, throwing his hands up when Dean confronted him after his shift. "I've got Bobby's bots to keep up as well. I'm working on it, Dean, and I'll tell you when everything's straightened out! In the meantime, stop bothering me!"

X

"Well?"

"You know the answer, why're you asking me?"

"Because…you're the one handling it?"

"Right. Well, I did the four human-based prints on you, Sam, Bobby, and just for kicks, the queen Harvelle. His basic personality controls are intact, but I did link the celibacy control to the—"

"Whoa, whoa. Celibacy?"

"Looks like you're not quite so pure as previously thought, eh? Relax. Long story short, the control will fluctuate with the people he's exposed to."

"…okay. What else? That's good, right?"

"Yeah…sort of. It's the fifth print that's giving me trouble."

"Trouble how? Five words, Ash."

"Five? Wow. Uh. Environmental. Synthesis. Is. Too. Big. There we go."

"Too big for what?"

"Prints are designation markers; they're designed to contain a name, a tag, and that's about it. Each print's supposed to be a gigabyte or two, max. The ES program, though, is huge. It's fucking _huge_. It's written in a different programming language, too, and I've been converting my ass off all day. I might have to rewrite the orientation code."

"Is there more?"

"Well…if I screw up, Cas will eternally be unaware of his surroundings and unable to process information from his senses. Does that count?"

"…"

"But you know. Worst case scenario and all."

"…don't screw up."

"Gotcha."

X

"So, what the heck is Ash doing with your bot again? Because that thing's taking up space in my trailer. It's been three days; don't you think it's time to clear out?"

X

"For the last time, Dean, I'm debugging my new code. Unless you want a homicidal bot on your hands, you'll leave me alone to do this, okay?"

X

_You've reached Dean Winchester. Leave a message and I'll get back to you whenever._

_Beeeep_.

"Hey, Dean. I know you've been pretty on edge lately. Is something wrong? You want to go out for a drink sometime? Saturday at the Roadhouse, what do you say? Bring Cas; we'll make it a party."

_Beeeep_.

"Dean? Well, I guess Saturday's not a good time, huh? You sound really tired. Is Bobby overworking you?"

_Beeeep_.

"Hey, I was just asking. And no, I haven't sold Ruby yet. Why do you ask? I thought one bot was more than enough for you to handle."

_Beeeep_.

"…what do you mean Cas is gone? He's a bot, man, bots don't run away. Hang on, I'm coming over."

X

Dean scowled from the window, tapping his fingers as he waited for Sam's Charger to disappear down the road. Sam had been all gooey puppy dog eyes, and it had taken quite a lot of talking for Dean to convince him to stop yapping. _Cas went back to the factory for a reset, that's all. _It wasn't lying, not really. Not with the way things were going, anyway.

He also made a note to avoid drunk dialing. Evidently, Dean was a little maudlin when lightly wasted. And rambly. And, yeah. But after a week of cheeseburgers (evidently his stomach had gotten used to Cas' cooking and had complained at being forced to digest grease and oil once more) and unwashed socks, he'd gotten to the point where he just _had_ to get out of the house. And well, one beer led to another and, yeah.

He sighed as he headed out to the driveway. He was not, repeat _not_ going to get all chick flick over this. Cas had been under Ash's TLC for an entire week with no results, but hell, that was fine. Dean had been wiping his own ass for years. He could handle this, no problem.

…except yeah, he was a total girl and he couldn't. But who cared?

"C'mon, baby," he said, patting the hood of the Impala before opening the door and sliding in. "Work, sleep, shit, eat. It's an awesome life."

The Impala purred under his touch as he started the engine. Dean put on some heavy rock music in the music player and blasted it as loud as he could. He kept it that way on the entire drive to Bobby's, uncaring of the dirty looks others on the road gave him.

"Hey, Ash, what's up," he said as he pushed open the door. He pulled off his jacket and threw it onto the raggedy old couch before looking up. Ash was wearing the smile of a cat that just ate a canary. "Whoa."

"Call me Dr. Badass," Ash said, and Dean's heart sped up ridiculously in his chest. "Because I gotta tell you, man—I am _awesome_."

Dean's mouth dropped open as Cas twitched slightly, his form straightening from the crooked slump Dean had seen the entire past week. "You did it? Cas," he said, leaning over and bracing himself on the table. "Cas—can you hear me? You okay?"

Cas opened his eyes, and blue stared up at Dean dazedly. "Is he okay?" Dean demanded Ash. "What did you do?"

"Made him human," Ash announced, throwing his arms out dramatically. He paused. "Theoretically."

"Uh," Cas said, sounding confused. His mouth worked for a few seconds, and Dean grew more alarmed as no sound came out.

"What's going on? Did you fry his brain?" Dean snapped. "Cas. Hey. Hey. Listen to me. It's Dean, do you know who I am?"

"He should," Ash said, the triumph moving off his face as Cas continued to say nothing. "Hey—buddy, can you hear me?"

Cas blinked at him languidly before his gaze drifted back to Dean. "What happened?" he asked finally, his voice raspier than usual. Dean found himself grinning, his hand locked onto Cas' arm.

"Hey," Dean said softly. "You got revamped. Sort of." He glanced at Ash. "Either that or you got your brains blown out."

"Not going to happen," Ash asserted, although he still looked a little worried.

"I don't…" Cas began, his eyes moving around the room before finally fixing on Dean.

"Do you know who I am, Cas?" Dean asked, his thumb just barely brushing Cas' cheek. Cas stared at him, a slight furrow appearing between his eyebrows. "Cas?"

"Dean," Cas said finally, breathing it like a prayer.

"Yep, that's me," Dean said, his voice cracking despite his best efforts to keep cool. "Nice to see you again, man." He swallowed hard to get past the lump in his throat.

"Are you all right?" Cas asked, frowning slightly. Dean laughed at seeing that familiar frown smooth out over his face.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," he said. He smiled and rubbed Cas' shoulder. "Welcome back to the real world, man."


End file.
